#tw: theon who?

[tomriddleshoe]

Is it only me or...

[yanderenightmare]

ooo just in general who do you like in got/hotd? you mentioned aemond but I'm curious lolz

Spoilers for both GOT/HOTD! Don't read if you aren't caught up with either series!

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, incest, GOT/HOTD in general

♡ fem reader

My favorite character, above all else, is Ramsey. If I get really into writing for this universe, he's definitely gonna be one of my regulars. I love him. So much yandere potential. And he's terrifying. Paired with his little pet Theon. Mmmh. Ramsey makes him lick all the wounds he inflicts on you. Tugs his cock to the sight of it. Cums on you both. Tying you up on the Bolton cross, he makes Theon kneel between your legs to lick your clit until you pass out. You're both his little pets.

Joffrey was also one of my favorites, but I don't know if I could write for him. I find it hard to imagine him being sexual. I'll have to think about that one.

Tommen, on the other hand! Yes, please. Virginal goodie-two-shoes with the power of a King. Yes, God. You may think he's harmless, but no, though a different breed, he's a little psycho, just like his brother. And you're just a poor chambermaid doing your job. He'll apologize when his arousal gets the better of him. But the stress gets to him, you know? It's not easy being the new King. All this responsibility, the realm in shambles, threats to his life left and right. You'll be good for him, won't you? Obey him and let him use you to blow off some steam—you can do that for him, can't you?

The Hound, or Sandor Clegane, is also one of my favorites. Massive and strong as all hell. He has a moral compass, but he doesn't care how he goes about following it. And the journey's long, and the ground is rough, and the night is cold, and he's had to fight twice already to keep you safe. So just shut up and let him make use of you. It's not as if he can't tell you're enjoying it as his fat cock drills your tight cunt. You make all his clothes wet with how much you soak. So don't bother lying.

Jamie and Cersei are also hot. Thinking about being their younger sister. How awfully possessive they are of you. Bringing you to bed with them. Telling you it's only right for family to stick together. How your big sister uses her pretty finger to prep you before Jamie fills your snug cunt up. They coo as you fuss—insisting it's right while making you cum for them.

Tywin is even better. You're his youngest daughter, but he fucks you like you're a common whore and tells you he loves you the most. He'll rant about how immoral the other three are and make you promise you'll never become like them—that you'll stay his good girl and do what he tells you without ever questioning him.

Tormund. He picks you as his wife, and you have absolutely no say in the matter. Scrawny little wildlings that can't even hunt for themselves have no rights. You'll keep him warm in the cold night, and he'll provide for you. Of course, his stamina makes it no easy arrangement. Making you squeal until your out of breath and then some.

Littlefinger. You're a new bird in his brothel, and he's decided you're worth training himself. Yes, he'll teach you everything you need to know about pleasing a man. Make you accept you're nothing but his whore, eager to do everything he tells you without hesitation. A subservient and devoted little slave to your master.

Bronn. If his gold coins can't buy you, he isn't a stranger to getting the things he wants in other immoral ways. Threatening your pretty neck with his knife actually only makes his cock harder. Don't worry. He'll leave you the gold coins anyway.

One of my favorite characters from HOTD is Ser Otto Hightower. What an unbelievably scummy old man! He has you tied up in his bed and doesn't even allow you to wash off his filth without his presence. He's taking all your holes for himself. After all, he's a noble tied into the Royal family, and you, a lowly servant, are his property. Just as he makes use of a washcloth, he'll make use of you. There is no difference.

Ser Criston Cole, as well, uses his gold cloak to make threats. If you know what's best for you, you'll strip on his command, kneel at his feet, and kiss his silver boots before he loses patience.

You obviously try your best to avoid King Aegon. Any pretty chambermaid might be his next victim. And you know, if anyone finds out what he does to you, you'll be the one who's banished from the castle, not him. And that's why, when he has you pressed against his bed, cock already tearing through your tight cunt, you don't say a word. Keeping quiet, you allow him to do whatever he wants each and every time, and then you go about just as silently as if nothing had happened. And that's why you're his favorite. You know your place, and you never forget it.

Larys freaks me the fuck out, but... Allowed little power elsewhere, he makes certain to exercise the vast depth of his power-hunger with you. Yet in the most unorthodox and gross ways possible. Playing with your feet while you cry for him to stop. He looks at you with the most innocent eyes while protruding his tongue, licking your soles slowly before closing his mouth around your toes and sucking fiercely while tonguing the gaps.

Aemond. So much potential here. You're a dragon keeper and one of the very few Vhagar allows in close without burning. You have no idea if it's the dragon or its rider that likes you first. All you know is that Aemond's grip is strong as he takes you hard against the rough old scales of the largest dragon in the world.

Daemon. There's a sadness in his you don't dare provoke. Shivering as you do what he tells you, in all hope it can soothe the dragon within him before it decides to burn you. He can be gentle at times. If you approach carefully enough. But most of the time, he's got trouble in his mind and only one outlet.

[ladystoneboobs]

idt we talk enough about how a song of ice and fire is also the song of incest and cannibalism. i mean, sure, obviously both of those subjects are noted as present, but the saga feels much more known for its incest, which idt is fair or accurate to the later materiel. iirc, jaime fucking cersei next to their dead firstborn is the last instance of onpage incest happening in present tl, and after that it's all about the cannibals, baby.

(disclaimer: cw/tw sa, cw/tw rape, and i'm not counting cousincest as that's normal in-world even for non-targaryens and also still legal in many places in our world today, nor counting the faux-incestuous freudian mess that is littlefinger/alayne(sansa)/sweetrobin, nor any dark humor jokes and/or unfulfilled threats wrt forced cannibalism)

in fact pretty much all the active incest during the present tl happens in those first 3 books:

the twincest as a major plot point ofc, kicking action off when bran saw them fucking in a tower

and viserys creeping on dany and twisting her nipple

tyrion relating his backstory to bronn wherein he and tysha were both raped by proxy by his father, tywin (tho tyrion does not use that terminology)

craster still being alive to rape and impregnate his own daughters (resulting in dozens of forced incestuous relationships)

and theon unknowingly groping his own sister while she (knowingly) groped him in return

jaime's early pov recalled how he shut up cersei with kissing when they fought after bran refused to die

bella of stoney sept trying and failing to seduce gendry who is (unbeknownst to them both) her half-brother as both were sired by robert baratheon (only example in these 3 books where incest was averted before any sexual activity or incestuous contact occurred)

the aforementioned sept twincest next to joffrey's corpse

tyrion learning from oberyn about cersei twisting his penis when he was a baby

cersei's failed attempt to seduce jaime in wst, pulling out his dick for either a bj or hj until her talk of tyrion's death made him lose his boner

while incest is not exactly absent from the text after that, it seems to exist in the feastdance only in hypotheticals or past memories:

aeron's trauma flashbacks of his (implied only in published text) csa by euron

jaime still feeling lust when seeing cersei nude

and her fond reminiscing about them fucking behind robert's back/brief dream of them as a married couple before her walk of shame

victarion misinterpreting asha's offer of partnership as a marriage proposal and suddenly looking at his niece in a new way with "his manhood beginning to stiffen"

jaime's recollection of fucking cersei at darry next to robert as he was passed out drunk before cersei sent him to hunt arya (which would have happened back in agot and the point of this scene is more his failed hunt for a child just to make cersei happy)

arianne's "uneasy" memory of a past fantasy about being seduced by a man whose description is suspiciously similar to her late uncle oberyn

the aborted marital match of aegon/young griff to his purported aunt dany

illyrio saying (the now dead) viserys tried to rape dany the night before her wedding to drogo (another event from agot concerning a guy we already knew was into incest)

and tyrion once saying he wanted to rape as well as murder cersei

conversely, the cannibalism in the earlier books is most often only unproven hypotheticals alluded to as possible cannibalism:

old nan saying the others fed their dead servants the flesh of human children (which we have not yet seen with any wights so far, whether or not one counts walking undead eating human flesh as straight-up cannibalism)

the mystery meat in flea bottom's bowls o' brown which may or may not contain symon silver tongue after tyrion had him killed

renly's recollection that cressen kept stannis from catapulting their old master-at-arms by saying they may need to eat him later (which did not come to pass thanks to davos)

joffrey telling his people to eat their own dead (with no way of knowing if any actually did)

lady hornwood eating her own fingers (though bran's pov only notes them being chewed on, not swallowed. it's only in adwd that people talk of her eating the fingers.)

the mentions of the ice river clans being the cannibals beyond the wall (who are def not among the free folk jon snow gets to know onpage, making it just background detail)

bran's (possibly mythical) story of the rat cook

and biter chewing on people he attacked and other corpses (which seems to be just a side hobby connected to his killing method moreso constituting a snack than a full meal from a person butchered for meat. this tendancy of his is just background detail in acok, with biter chewing a corpse in the background after the weasel soup operation, and the hindsight implication that it could well have been him rather than dogs or wolves who had "been at" the corpses after the skirmish where yoren was killed)

while the feastdance feels much more in your face with cannibalism, having not only more total mentions of the practice but also more actual cannibalism (as opposed to the ambiguity of each and every bowl o' brown), for those who know how to look at the evidence:

jaime learned that his father's mad dog aka the mountain fed parts of vargo hoat to all his prisoners (including vargo himself) after recapturing harrenhal

and euron bragged about pulling a similar trick with the warlocks he captured (the only twist being that the warlocks knew what they were being forced to eat, which vargo hoat and wylis manderly etc at harrenhal likely didn't)

the elder brother of the quiet isle told of biter eating all of a woman's breasts at saltpans after she'd been raped and killed (prob the largest amount of flesh biter's confirmed to have eaten from one corpse)

bran and co. ate "pig" supplied by coldhands which had to be long pig aka human meat

brienne felt her face being eaten by biter in her own pov (which is so much worse than him chewing others in the background of the weasel soup scene)

theon was told that two ironmen at moat cailin were found eating their dead comrades

the astapori were said to eat their own dead while under siege by the yunkishmen

and then were said to do so again in refugee camps outside meereen

khrazz the pit fighter cut the hearts from his defeated foes to eat them

cotter pyke's last letter to jon snow said the wildlings were eating their own dead at hardhome

4 of stannis's men were executed by burning for butchering and eating other men (with asha wondering how many others had done so without being caught)

and ofc the frey pies with wyman manderly having his 3 former guests killed and serving their meat to their own kin and the other guests at ramsay's wedding while eating some himself too

two of these examples (involving gregor clegane and euron greyjoy) must have actually happened during the course of asos, but grrm chose to give us the gruesome details in affc, which was brand new information about men we already knew were villains but did not know were into that fucked-up shit specifically, unlike being reminded that agot-era jaime and viserys wanted to fuck their sisters. (and not unlike how adwd has the clarification of multiple characters saying lady hornwood ate her own fingers as opposed to bran's acok pov just saying she chewed on them.) it's as if after craster was killed and jc effectively broke up grrm decided cannibalism was the taboo subject matter he would fill the later books with, so we'd really feel the increasing danger of starvation-induced cannibalism with winter's arrival (and have no trouble believing rickon's new home of skagos really is a cannibal island). however, in-universe it feels like there's some sort of environmental balance connection so that the decrease in one formerly common behaviorial abomination just allows another such abomination to fill in the gap with a sharp increase in activity, like deer overpopulation resulting from lack of predators as if all the active incest somehow stopped more people from eating themselves or other people.

[llonelygoddess]

How they react to...You being good with a sword

A/N: Not my best work but I'm open to feedback!

Characters: Ned Stark, Margaery Tyrell, Sandor Clegane, Sansa Stark, Khal Drogo, Brienne of Tarth, Missandei, Podrick, Jorah Mormont

TW: Horny characters, violence?

Ned Stark: You'd both be out watching Robb, Jon, and Theon practicing with their swords in the court yard. Jon's kicking both of their asses and it's getting hard to watch so you excuse yourself from Ned's side. Walking down to the courtyard, you grab a sword and show them defensive and offensive positions. Ned almost objects as you begin but seeing his kids take your advice so seriously he smiles. If the boys can respect you as a teacher then so could he. Now, He didn't like the idea of you being in a situation where you have to use a sword but knowing you can wield one turns him on lol

Margaery Tyrell: In the life you'd live with Margaery it would be best to keep your talent hidden. It was scandal enough to be courting someone that wasn't a man, but if said person also brandished a sword it would be the hottest gossip of the city. So you save your skills for real emergencies and the first time Margaery sees this she is beyond confused and a little scared. In private she'll thank you for saving her and ask how you learned such a thing.

Sandor Clegane: This guy is the least phased. Like, he's definitely caught off guard by how skilled you are but not much surprises him anymore. He gives you tips every now and then but really believes in your capability. I like to think one of his favorite moments are after you both have had a good fight and you take turns taking care of each other. Wiping the wounds clean, covering them, and then taking a hot bath together ( or separate cause mans is BIG).

Sansa Stark: It kinda depends on which era of Sansa we're talking about. Like if it's younger Sansa than she's probably a little frightened of you but would be dying to hear the stories of how you came to be so good. If it was older Sansa then she's highly impressed and requests for you to be apart of her personal guard. She likely will ask for you to teach her a few things so she can defend herself as well.

Khal Drogo: Man is impressed. He values strength so seeing you with a weapon at all riles him up, but seeing you defend yourself from another Dothraki who spoke against you? He's immediately dragging your ass to bed, or he might just take you in front of everyone.

Brienne of Tarth: <3 Big heart eyes<3 Finally! Someone who can keep up with her. This woman spent her whole life being told that anyone who wasn't a man couldn't possibly wield a sword properly, and after proving that wrong herself it's refreshing to see you also beating the stereotypes. She loves to train with you and teach you things as well as learn from you. After your first real battle together she'll do her best not to hover but you can tell she's stressed out about whether you were hurt or not. Of course she knows you can take care of yourself but she loves you and can't help but worry.

Missandei: As an educated woman and former slave, Missandei never had time ( or the desire) to learn the ways of a sword. When she met you, you were training with Jorah and Grey Worm and she was impressed with how you could keep up with them. From then on, She's always enjoyed watching you train, your strength filling her with pride. She feels content knowing that you can defend yourself and her at any moment.

Podrick: Honestly, he's relieved. I mean, don't get me wrong he'll defend you without a second thought ( it's very hot) but knowing that you can handle yourself in a fight takes the pressure off of him a little. He worries for you, the world you both live in will eat and spit people out and the thought of something happening to you haunts him. He may try to give you tips ( even if you're better than him lol), so just let him help the few ways he can.

Jorah Mormont: You'd both probably meet while working for Daenerys so there's almost an expectation that you'd be good at defending yourself/her. In your first fight together you save him from a sword that nearly took his head off and after that day he begins to see you as more than just another guard.

[axelsagewrites]

Best Friend

Pairing: Robb Stark x F!Reader

Summary: after a decade of friendship Robb is finally able to recognise his love but only after his best friend starts looking for a husband that isn't him.

TW: swears and Theon being Theon.

Fluff and angst all in one.

Word count: 2838

Masterlist Here

Robb Stark was so not in love with his best friend who he spent all his time with, who he taught how to ride and swing a sword just encase, who he ate lunch with every day in the gods wood, who he gazed at from his seat at the table, who he threatens every potential betrothal of, who he would constantly bring up in conversations nothing to do with them. No obviously not. Jon was crazy for suggesting the future lord of Winterfell would be in love by his best friend of near a decade.

“Of course I don’t fancy her you idiot,” Robb said as he and Jon sparred, “She’s my best mate you twat,”

Jon laughed as he half-heartedly deflected his brothers blows, “Of course not brother. Why else would you stare at her?”

“I do not stare,”

“You stare more at her than Theon does at arses,”

“It’s true,” Theon piped up from his spot a couple feet away. Robb sparred and learned from Jon and then Theon from Robb. Theon was stood close to the boys waiting for his turn against Robb. It was a routine they had down from their year of training together. “You’re in love with her mate,”

“Am not,”

“Am too,”

“Am not,”

“So can I try wooing her then?” Theon asked.

Robb spun around and pointed his sword just in front of his throat, “Don’t even think about it Greyjoy,” Robb swung his sword back and continued sparring with Jon, this time with more force in his swing. Jon faltered slightly as he quickened his pace to keep up, “We all know what you mean by wooing and if you dare try fuck her-“

“Hey guys,” Robbs eyes went wide and he quickly lowered his sword and shut his mouth, “Whatcha talking about?”

Jon and Theon snickered as Robb tried to ignore his face growing hot. “Nothing much. Just these too idiots,” Robb said and (Y/N)’s smile did not help his blush. “You know what Theon’s like,”

“What poor girl are you tormenting this week?” (Y/N) asked Theon with a grin.

Theon gave Robb and even bigger grin before walking up to (Y/N), “Could be you if you wanted darling,”

The girl rolled her eyes with a smile but a slight grimace at the same time, “You wish Greyjoy,”

“Who doesn’t?” Theon flung his arm over her shoulder which was met by a glare from Robb.

“In your dreams idiot,” she shrugged herself free from his lose grip before turning back to Robb, “You still on for today?”

“Yeah I’ll meet you in the woods when I’m done here,”

“Okay Robbie see you then,” she said as she walked past him, touching his shoulder as she passed, “Bye Jon, see you never Theon,”

“Bye (Y/N),” Jon called after her as she entered the castle, presumably going to the kitchen to sort for her and Robbs lunch. “Not in love still?”

“Shut up and duel me idiot,” Robb snapped.

(Y/N) was already sat by the weirtree in their usual spot in the woods when Robb arrived. “I wish you would wait for me to walk you here,” He said when he approached. Robb was always worried especially over his best friend. You never know who will be in the woods. What would he do if she got hurt? He dared to imagine.

“Nothing bad has happened to me yet,” she said, patting the spot beside her which he quickly filled, “besides you take ages,”

“Do not,”

“Do too. But I forgive you,” (Y/N) smiled and Robb hummed in fake annoyance. “I brought lunch,” she pulled the basket she had brought over, “They even prepared it ahead of time today,”

“They’re probably so used to this by now,” Robb said as he took the basket from her, “Ooo raspberry tarts,” He grinned and passed one to (Y/N).

“Aren’t those for after the sandwiches?” she asked but was already taking a bite out of it.

Robb smiled and watched as she ate it, “But they’re your favourite so why wait?” he said, leaving his own tart in the basket.

The two shared lunch and talked about the random things they had heard through the day. Along with a healthy amount of gossip of course.

“So, who was Theon talking about before I came along?” she asked as she handed Robb her apple.

Robb took the apple and his dagger from his belt and began to peel it for her like he had done every day for the past almost year since they started this tradition, “Oh it was nothing,”

“It sounded like something,” she said, “C’mon you always tell me his latest whorey history,”

“It wasn’t about a whore,” Robb felt his neck grow red and begged it wouldn’t go to his face, “he was talking about you,”

(Y/N) made a face, “Like in general or how he talks about his whores?”

“Id slit his throat if he talked about you like that,” Robb said with no laugh in his voice. He passed the now peeled apple back to her, “Nah he was just being a dick and that and talking about you to try wind me up,”

“Why would talking about me wind you up? We’re best friends,”

Even the way she bit into her apple was cute. Why had it took his friends pointing it out for Robb to realise how over the moons he was with her? And why did he feel the need to spit it out in a stream of word vomit that would surely end the friendship they’d grown? It took everything in him to shrug his shoulders and change the conversation.

The whole subject and talks with his brother had sent his head spinning that the only thing that snapped him out of it was (Y/N) saying, “My fathers looking for a suitor for me. I hate it,”

“He’s what? Why?”

“Because apparently im going to die an old maid if I don’t wow some fancy dancy lords son or ancient lord soon,” she sighed as she dug through the basket for another treat, “He’s talking about sending me all over the north or ever down to the reach to go to random balls and tourneys to try meet more people,”

“You cant leave,” Robb felt like all the air had been sucked from his lungs, “You’re my best friend I wont have you shipped across the country to some random old fucker who-“

“I don’t want to go either,” She cut him off, “I don’t think he’s going to send me out the north yet but he wants me to go to some ball the Karstarks are throwing for one of their sons. He’s even ordered me a new dress,”

“You don’t need a new dress. You need to stay in Winterfell,” Robb grabbed her hand before even thinking. The idea the possibility of her leaving. He didn’t want to let her go. Not yet. Or ever.

“I’m trying Robb. I promise I am. But he needs a reason to keep me here. We’re not kidding anymore,” her smile was sad and she squeezed his hand in return.

They fell silent for a few minutes. Robb knew she was right. Hell, he knew her father was right. But he didn’t want her to marry a random lord. He didn’t want her to leave.

He barely spoke the rest of the day. During his family dinner he sat and poked at his meat as his sisters bickered and his brothers argued. His mother tried to defuse the situation while his father tried to stop his wives glares at Jon. His father had insisted he at least joined their private dinners.

None of it really mattered to Robb who just pushed the potatoes from side to side. With a sigh Catelyn turned from her daughters to her eldest, “And what’s bothering you darling? Has Jon broken your comb as well?” Sansa scowled and Arya sniggered to which they both received a sharp look, “You’ve barely ate,”

“Not hungry,”

“You need to eat,”

Robb didn’t reply and instead turned to his father, “Are we going to the Karstarks ball thing?”

Neds’ eyes widened but he quickly relaxed, “I wasn’t planning on it. How come? You’ve never been into balls son,”

“Was just wondering,” he continued picking at his food as his father attempted to lighten the mood.

“Who told you about it? Did lord Karstark ask you? Cause I’ve been avoiding him recently,” Ned chuckled, “I’m still looking for an excuse to stay here,”

“(Y/N) told me,”

“She is going then?” Ned asked. Robb nodded, “Is that why you’re upset?”

“Never said I was upset,” Robb let go of his fork, letting it clatter onto the table, “Just not hungry and was wondering about the Karstarks. Sorry for being informed,”

“Don’t talk to your father like that,” Catelyn snapped. The table grew quiet and his siblings shared concerned looks. Never not once had they heard Robb be snarky towards either of their parents. “Whatever has gotten into you-into all of you, cut it out. Im sick of it. finish your dinners everyone. Robb if you’re not hungry you can leave,”

Robbs chair screeched across the floor as he left the room without a word. Ned laid his cutlery down and stared at his plate before standing from the table and following Robb. The room was silent as he left.

“Wait right there,” Ned called after Robb who was about to go around the corner to his chambers. Robb huffed and stared out a window as he waited for his father to approach, “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry for being snarky,” Robb mumbled.

Ned sighed and grabbed his son’s shoulder and spun him to face him. He held Robbs shoulders and forced the boy to face him, “What happened son?”

“Lord Karstarks and his stupid sons are having a stupid ball with stupid lords who stupid (Y/N) is going to do stupid dances with because her morainic father has stupid ideas,” Robb felt his eyes water but he couldn’t care anymore,

“Well I’m glad you know more words than stupid,” Ned sighed and dropped his hands from his shoulders, “but you shouldn’t be calling the girl stupid for looking for a husband,”

“But- “

“But nothing,” he interrupted him “you obviously love the girl so don’t be calling her names,”

Robb sighed and wiped away the tears that had spilled, “I don’t know why I’m being like this. Im sorry I should- “

“Should. Look son,” Ned sighed and began to walk Robb to his chambers, “Life is hard. Really hard. Marriage is even harder. Then eventually there’s children. Trust me you lot are the hardest,” he laid a hand on Robbs shoulder, “but its much easier when you love the person sharing it with you. If you love this girl, if you truly do, neither me nor your mother would dare try stop you from marrying,”

“But what if she doesn’t want me? What if she wants some fancy lord with silk robes and shiny hair?”

Ned looked his son up and down, “First of all remember who you are. You’re a stark. Women love us,” Robb cringed at his father’s joke, “Don’t think I don’t know about the lotions you get from Maester Luwin for your hair,” this time Robb managed to laugh, “but more importantly its you she spends all her time with. And even if she didn’t want to marry you,” Robbs smile quickly faded as he faced the reality that she may reject him, “eventually you will have to marry. And you will spend the rest of your life regretting not at least finding out,”

Ned stayed longer and comforted his son and told him stories of his early days in marriage. The ways in which he wooed over his already wife and how she looked on their wedding day. Robb had never been more certain. His father had briefly mentioned that even politically she was a good match considering her father but neither Stark cared overly about that.

Jon had stopped by after a while to check on him and Robb confessed everything. The tears and the build up all spilled out. Jon patted his brother’s shoulder, “Of course she’ll marry you. She’d be an idiot not to. Who wants a Karstarks over a Stark?”

Then eventually Robb was left alone. He tried to sleep but it wouldn’t come. He watched the moon from his window and wondered what he would say. How would he even bring it up? Would he propose straight away? Just kiss her. Confess his love first then kiss her? What would she say? What would her father say?

Before he realised what he was doing he was stood at the door of her chambers. he paced back and forth wondering whether or not to knock. It was late. The moon was high. She was probably asleep. He held his hand up to the door and sighed. He waited a minute and then he heard footsteps. If his mother heard he was out here at this time she’d kill him. So, he knocked. Rather quickly. He kept knocking until the door finally opened.

(Y/N) didn’t have time to question the boy before he rushed in her room and she peered down the corridor in confusion. Upon seeing no man with a sword running to kill Robb she finally shut it, “What’s your deal?” she yawned.

“I need to talk to you,” Robb turned to face the girl before quickly averting his gaze. But he had already saw her in her night gown which did little to cover the shape of the girl he had been secretly pining over. It was rare for him to see any women undressed let alone (Y/N) in such a natural state.

She looked down, noticing what Robb had and a pink tinge coated her cheeks. (Y/N) quickly grabbed a lounge robe from her chair and pulled it around her. “What are you doing here Robb?” she asked as she approached him.

“I-,” he stopped himself and looked out the window as he tried to think of the perfect sentence but none would come to him. She stepped closer and Robb turned back and grabbed her arms gently, “I was thinking. You shouldn’t go to the ball. You should stay here,” Robb led her to sit on her bed and she took his hands into hers.

“I want to stay Robb,” she said “but my father- “

“Wants you married I know. But why can’t you marry someone here? You could stay in Winterfell, start a family,” he was almost begging at this point, “Why do you need to start your search so far away?”

“It’s barely a two-hour ride. I’ll be safe trust me. I’ll be with my father and my family and-“

“Not with me,” Robb gripped her hands tighter. It was now or never. Ignoring his body screaming at him to stop he continued, “I want you to stay here. With me. In Winterfell. For so many more years to come,” Robb moved the stray hairs from her face. He had never seen it flow like this. It was messy from her sleep and not tied back or braided like it usually was. He wished to see (Y/N) like this a thousand more times.

“Of course, I want to stay,” her voice was equally desperate as his, “but I’m not going to be gone forever. Its one ball Robb and I’ll be back here. I promise,”

“For how long though? A week? A month? Another ball will come up or a tourney. You said yourself your father was thinking about the reach- “

“I don’t know for sure- “

“I want you to stay,” he cut her off and she sighed in return. Robb edged closer to her on the bed, “Wouldn’t you like to stay?”

“I would want nothing more,” her voice was almost a whisper now, “I’d happily stay here forever with you just so we could have our lunches but my fathers right. I need to find a husband,”

“Maybe you’ve already found one,” his voice was equally low now and with every second they seemed to be closer, “Why do you need to go so far to find someone you already have?”

“But Robbie your family- “

“Have already approved the match,” Robb began to rub circles on her hand with his thumb, “And im sure your father would do the same. But only if you want to. I wont force you to stay but if you want to it would be my honour to marry you,”

A smile fell upon her lips. It was soft and gentle and sweet and caring and everything Robb felt about her. her eyes glistened but not from sadness. This time she was the one to shuffle closer, “Then the gods have finally listened to my prayers. There’s no one I’d rather spend my life besides,”

A/N: this all started because I was eating an apple and didnt want to do my uni work. However I am tempted to possibly maybe try writing some kind of smut sequel maybe possibly (cause I have never wrote straight up smut so I trying to tackle that will be interesting lol)

[ophelias-lamentation]

every single thing I touch has turned into ashes

An au set 150 years after the current timeline, separate northern kingdom. Elaine Tully is wife to Theon Stark, heir to the throne of winter.

Tw: child death, gore, violence, beheading

originally written for an rp server so some grammar things may seem weird. Lemme know if y’all want the funeral monologue!

The corridors of Winterfell were hushed, their familiar coldness seeping into the stone walls as the evening deepened into night. Elaine moved with a practiced grace, her children at her side, their small hands wrapped in hers. Rickard, her eldest, walked close beside her, his steps light and eager as he clung to his mother’s warmth. Sansa, still just a babe, was cradled in Elaine’s arms, her small head resting against her mother’s shoulder, the soft rhythm of her breathing a quiet comfort in the stillness of the castle.

Behind them, Violet, Elaine’s handmaiden, followed with a candle, its flickering light casting long, wavering shadows along the walls. The warmth of the flames barely penetrated the chill in Elaine’s heart. The day had been ordinary, routine even, yet an uneasy feeling had settled in her chest, one she could not shake. Perhaps it was the gathering of storm clouds on the horizon or the way the wind whispered through the trees, but something felt different tonight.

The children’s chambers were dimly lit, the fire in the hearth casting a soft glow across the room. Elaine gently lowered Sansa into her crib, the babe stirring but not waking as she tucked the blanket around her. Rickard was already in bed, his small face illuminated by the firelight, his eyes bright with the remnants of the day’s excitement.

“Sleep now, my loves,” Elaine murmured, brushing a kiss against Rickard’s forehead before turning to check on Sansa once more. The routine was comforting, familiar. It grounded her, and for a moment, the unease began to ebb away.

As she straightened, her eyes caught on Violet, who was moving about the room with uncharacteristic stiffness. There was something off in her movements— hesitant and almost mechanical. Violet’s usually graceful demeanor seemed forced, her actions more deliberate than fluid. The handmaiden’s hands trembled slightly as she smoothed Rickard’s blanket, and Elaine’s frown deepened.

‘Everyone has off days,’ Elaine thought to herself, pushing aside the discomfort that threatened to settle in her chest. Violet had served her faithfully for years. Whatever was troubling her tonight, it was not Elaine’s place to pry—at least not yet.

But then, as Elaine reached for the blanket to tuck it more securely around Rickard, her eyes caught on something that made her blood run cold. A long, jagged cut ran along Violet’s arm, the wound fresh and oozing blood through the sleeve of her gown.

“Violet, you’re hurt!” Elaine exclaimed, her voice filled with concern as she instinctively reached out. “How did this happen?”

Violet paused, her eyes meeting Elaine’s for a fraction of a second before she quickly averted them. Her response was flat, devoid of emotion. “It’s nothing, my lady. Just a scratch.”

Elaine opened her mouth to press further, but before she could speak, a sound from the doorway drew her attention. She turned, her breath catching in her throat as a shadow moved into the room. The figure was tall, dressed in dark clothing that blended into the dim light of the chamber. His face was hidden beneath a hood, and in his hand, he held a sword, its blade stained with fresh blood. He reached up a hand, shedding the hood, revealing a face that was almost entirely ordinary, a large scar traveled from the corner of his mouth to his ear, and his mouth was twisted into a sick and sadistic smile.

Elaine’s heart lurched in her chest, her instincts clawing at her to protect her children. The scream that rose in her throat was stifled as Violet suddenly twisted her arm behind her back, the force strong enough to make Elaine’s head spin them Violet clamped a hand over her mouth, muffling any cries for help. Panic surged through her, hot and suffocating, as she struggled against Violet’s grip. Her mind raced, thoughts colliding in a frantic attempt to understand what was happening.

This couldn’t be real. This had to be some twisted nightmare, but the pain in her arm, the cold edge of the blade against her throat, and the acrid scent of blood told her otherwise. This was real, horrifyingly real.

Sansa remained blissfully unaware, her soft breaths the only sound in the room. Rickard, however, was wide-eyed with terror, his small body trembling as he watched the scene unfold, too scared to move or make a sound.

Elaine’s thoughts were a whirlwind, her vision blurring as she fought to focus. She couldn’t let this happen. She had to protect them, had to save her children. Summoning every ounce of strength she had, Elaine bit down hard on Violet’s hand, feeling the skin break beneath her teeth, tasting blood as it filled her mouth. Violet hissed in pain, but her grip did not falter. Instead, she pressed the blade harder against Elaine’s throat, the sharp edge cutting into her skin, and Elaine felt the warm trickle of blood begin to seep down her neck.

“Run, Rickard!” Elaine managed to scream, her voice raw with desperation and terror. “Run to your father!”

For a moment, Rickard hesitated, his eyes flickering between his mother and the shadowy figure by the door. Then, with a burst of courage, he bolted for the doorway, his small feet pounding against the cold stone floor. But the tall figure moved with frightening speed, his hand shooting out to grab Rickard by the hair, yanking the boy back with brutal force. Rickard’s cry of pain and fear tore through Elaine, shredding her heart as she watched helplessly. 

The man’s voice was as cold as his eyes. "You should have stayed hidden, little prince. It would have been kinder."

The room seemed to close in around her, the walls pressing in as the air grew thick with terror. Violet’s voice was a low, sinister hiss in her ear, “You have to choose, my lady. One must die, and one will live. You do not know which, but you must choose. Or they both die.”

Elaine’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces as she looked at her children. Sansa, still asleep, her tiny form peaceful and unaware. Rickard, his face pale with fear, his body trembling in the grip of the assassin who held him. How could she choose between them? How could she decide which of her children would live and which would die?

“Please,” Elaine pleaded, her voice breaking with the weight of her anguish. “Kill me instead. Spare them. I beg you, please.”

But the tall figure shook his head, his voice as cold and merciless as the steel he wielded. “Choose.” It was simple, direct, a threat.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly as Elaine’s mind reeled, desperately searching for a way out, for some impossible solution that would save them both. But there was none. The reality of her situation crushed her, an unbearable weight pressing down on her chest, squeezing the breath from her lungs.

Tears streamed down her face, her body trembling as she choked out the words she never thought she would have to say. “Sansa… I choose Sansa.” She was young, if it was death the girl would not know what was happening, her sweet girl.

The assassin’s lips twisted into a cruel smile, his eyes gleaming with a dark, twisted satisfaction. He released Rickard, and for one brief, excruciating moment, a flicker of hope ignited in Elaine’s heart. Perhaps she had saved him. Perhaps—

With a single, swift stroke, the assassin's sword cut through the air, and in that same heartbeat, Rickard's head was severed from his body.

Elaine's world shattered. An ear-piercing scream tore from her throat, so raw, so guttural, that it seemed to reverberate through the very stone of Winterfell, a wail that echoed with the agony of a mother’s heart being torn apart. Her legs crumpled beneath her, no longer able to bear the weight of this new, crushing reality. She collapsed to the cold, unforgiving floor, her hands scrambling desperately over the blood-slicked stone as she crawled to what was left of her son.

She gathered Rickard’s small, lifeless body into her trembling arms, her hands slick with the blood that poured from his neck. The warm, viscous fluid soaked into her gown, the coppery scent overwhelming her senses, mingling with the chill of the winter air. His blood—her son’s blood—flowed over her, drowning her in a tide of grief and horror that was more than she could bear.

Rickard’s head, severed and still, lay just a short distance away, his once bright, innocent eyes now dull and void of life. The blood pooled around them, a dark, terrible reminder of the life that had been so cruelly and abruptly ended. It stained the cold stone floor, marking the final, irrevocable end of her son’s brief life.

Sansa’s cries pierced the air, a desperate, terrified wail that cut through the thick haze of Elaine’s sorrow. Her daughter’s voice, shrill and panicked, was a knife twisting in Elaine’s chest. She looked up, her vision blurred by tears, her heart breaking anew with every sob that escaped Sansa’s lips. But she couldn’t move, couldn’t bring herself to rise and comfort her daughter. All she could do was hold Rickard’s body, her mind a storm of grief and despair, the world around her reduced to nothing but the unbearable weight of her loss.

The assassins moved with the cold efficiency of those who had done this before, countless times. They took Rickard’s head as they left, their footsteps barely a whisper as they disappeared into the shadows. Elaine barely noticed their departure, her entire being consumed by the small, lifeless body in her arms.

Winterfell’s stone walls, once a bastion of safety and warmth, now closed in around her, cold and indifferent. The life she had known, the world she had built for her children, was gone, shattered beyond repair. Her heart ached with a pain so deep, so consuming, that it felt as though it might tear her apart from the inside out.

Elaine’s sobs filled the room, raw and unrelenting, her body trembling uncontrollably as she clutched Rickard’s lifeless form to her chest. Her mind screamed at her to act, to rise, to do something, to save Sansa, to comfort her, but she was paralyzed by the overwhelming grief, the unbearable weight of her loss. It was as though time had stopped, leaving her trapped in this moment of unimaginable horror, unable to move forward, unable to escape.

When the guard finally arrived, he found a scene from a nightmare. Elaine was huddled on the floor, covered in blood, her gown drenched, her face streaked with tears and gore. She held her son’s headless body in her arms, rocking back and forth in a macabre lullaby of despair. The cut on her neck, left by the assassin’s blade, bled freely, but she made no move to staunch it. She simply let it flow, a mother’s blood mingling with her son’s, a final, futile act of love in a world that had shown her nothing but cruelty. He was cold.

There was no solace, no comfort to be found in this moment. Only the crushing, suffocating weight of loss, and the cold, unfeeling walls of Winterfell, silent witnesses to a mother’s insurmountable grief.

[selkiewife]

I am so interested in the fact that Ramsay, who was himself a miller’s son (his mother was the miller’s wife), chooses the miller’s sons from Acorn Water to pass off as Bran and Rickon in A Clash of Kings. Yet we don’t find that out Ramsay was also a miller’s boy until this conversation Theon has with Roose:

(TW: Rape, Murder, general fucked-upness):

“...This miller's marriage had been performed without my leave or knowledge. The man had cheated me. So I had him hanged, and claimed my rights beneath the tree where he was swaying. If truth be told, the wench was hardly worth the rope. The fox escaped as well, and on our way back to the Dreadfort my favorite courser came up lame, so all in all it was a dismal day.

A year later this same wench had the impudence to turn up at the Dreadfort with a squalling, red-faced monster that she claimed was my own get. I should've had the mother whipped and thrown her child down a well … but the babe did have my eyes. She told me that when her dead husband's brother saw those eyes, he beat her bloody and drove her from the mill. That annoyed me, so I gave her the mill and had the brother's tongue cut out, to make certain he did not go running to Winterfell with tales that might disturb Lord Rickard. Each year I sent the woman some piglets and chickens and a bag of stars, on the understanding that she was never to tell the boy who had fathered him. A peaceful land, a quiet people, that has always been my rule." 

~ A Dance with Dragons, Reek III

It just makes me wonder. Most likely Ramsay chose the miller’s boys to pass off as Bran and Rickon because they were convenient. But the idea that Ramsay himself was also a miller’s boy who was originally dismissed as nothing by his father, adds another layer. And I keep turning it around in my head. Is Ramsay forcing a parallel between Theon and Roose so that he can punish Theon the way he can’t punish his father? Did Ramsay know that Theon had slept with the miller’s wife? Apparently Ramsay stops at the mill with Ser Rodrik when he is still posing as Reek and she sells them hay for their horses. Even if Ramsay didn’t know of the tryst between Theon and the miller’s wife, he at least sets Theon up to dismiss the miller’s sons as worthless, just as he had been dismissed. Obviously, Ramsay also views the lives of the miller’s sons as worthless as well. But, there is something there I think? Maybe? some subconscious desire to set Theon up to play the role of his father and then to cut him down for it and make him as worthless as Ramsay himself was once treated? 

There are other parallels and anti-parallels between Theon and Roose- Theon’s ACOK’s arc paralleling Roose’s ADWD’s arc. Theon mocking Roose at Robb’s councils turning into Roose mocking Theon in ADWD, and Theon’s premature aging vs Roose never seeming to age- @amuelia has a wonderful artwork about this! Could the miller’s sons be another parallel? I don’t know... thoughts? Tell me even even you disagree completely! I just want to talk about it lol. 

[rainwingmarvel7]

One of your fave lore pieces you came up with

Oh my goodness there’s so many options… I think this time I’m gonna yap about the pre-Season 1 Nadya and Theon dynamic. This is kind of a big spoiler, although I’ve talked about it a little before, so proceed at your own risk lol. Also tw for mentions of miscarriage.

Although Nadya was betrothed to Robb and had some developing chemistry with Jon, it was actually Theon who was her first serious relationship. They kept it a secret for the most part, although some people, such as Ros, were well aware.

Many a time, they had fantasized running away to the Iron Islands and getting married.

Everything reached it’s turning point when Nadya found out that she was pregnant with Theon’s child, a little over a year before the events of GoT S1. She kept it a secret from pretty much everyone, including Theon. The only ones who knew at first were her mother, Maester Luwin, and Ros. Ned and Cat found out about it a little while later, after Nadya’s mother had died from the pox, and Nadya had fallen ill a few months later.

Unfortunately, both due to sickness and grief over the loss of her mother, Nadya lost her baby. It was one of the hardest moments in her life, especially because she couldn’t even tell those closest to her about it, even Theon. In cinema terms, this is her “ghost” in the story.

But on a sweeter note, even though they didn’t know why she was so sick, the Stark kids visited her all the time and had some very sweet moments. Theon also visited a lot, but that was a much sadder affair.

After that, she become more closed off from Theon, as he reminded her of everything she had lost and also she had come to realize that she didn’t want a relationship with him anymore. They still remained close, but she pushed back against his romantic advances, so by the start of S1 they’re a bit strained but still care for one another.

As ATRF goes on, Nadya’s heart will soften towards him again, especially once she learns of what Ramsey has done to him. They may not be together any more, and Nadya certainly has some pretty serious trauma to work through with their relationship, but they still really care about each other and will always have a place in each other’s hearts.

[francis-writes]

Okay okay, i saw one of your post you like reader as unhinged as ramsay rather than scared and whimpy, and guess what? ME TOO! So what about ramsay being obsessed and absolutely whipped with his new wife who is unhinged and match his energy, she absolutely wrapped him around her finger and he is lovesick, when he sees her tormenting others (and sometimes even him) he is weak on his knees. And when he killed her father, he saw that she helped his stepmom escape the castle and he is in disbelief and hearthbroken until he ask her "why would you do that? We were going to be lady and lord of dreadfort!" she hands him his bow with a smirk and uncaged the hounds and say "we will my dear, but we should live up to the reputation" (basically implying they should hunt them down rather than basically killing them, like he did to kyra and theon in the books, make them think they can escape then hunting them down and killing them) and he is even more in love with her? WE NEED MORE OF READER LİKE THIS WITH RAMSAY

A/N: I wasn’t sure whether it was a request or just an idea so i wrote a short fragment. (i can eagerly write more if you want) But anyway, anon, you have a brilliant mind. I already thought i am alone in this. I don’t mind that everyone has their own preferences but at some point i was tired of constantly seeing the same “reader is terrified of Ramsay and sleeps with him to avoid punishment/reader hates Ramsay and they hate themselves for being down bad for him”.

I barely see other possibilities explored and there’s so many! Your “they are both sadistic killers”, but also even “I don’t really support his actions, but he’s my bbygirl and looks good covered in blood so i will just stand near, slightly shocked but with thumbs up”. Or you know what? Reader who is actually very submissive and masochistic and if anything, they are jealous about Ramsay’s victims. Maybe they just have autoassassinatophilia (like, when you are aroused by possibility of being killed, don’t mind my self-indulgence) and Ramsay is just perfect for them because other people were like “you want me to strangle you until you pass out? i don’t know, seems too extreme for me :/”. Okay, maybe I am going too far, but you get me. Sooo many possibilities. As Harley Poe once said, “monsters need love too”.

tw: violence, murder,child’s death,  but that goes without saying

You were riding through the woods without hurry. You could hear hounds growling and barking in the distance, clear sign that they already caught Walda. It was to be expected, even with a head start, she was too heavy to run fast, especially that she was fresh after giving birth. Honestly, the ease was rather disappointing. Killing her would be satisfying nonetheless, but you would prefer more challenging chase, prolonging the thrill of hunt. But howling of hounds informed you that she would clearly not run any longer. Ramsay smiled to you.

“Maybe we should go faster and see how my stepmother feels after that short trot”

You nodded and hurried up your horse. Soon you and Ramsay stopped and dismounted your horses. Fat Walda was sitting under the tree, curled up and pressing a small bundle to her chest. She was clearly terrified by the large hounds circling her and growling threateningly. They didn’t hurt her yet, they wouldn’t without Ramsay’s command.

Ramsay smirked and walked closer to Walda. She raised her tearful eyes at him and pleaded in breaking voice:

“Ramsay… I beg you.. I will leave, go back to Twins, you will never hear about me again… just let me go”

Ramsay hummed and shook his head in mocked regret.

“Oh, dear Walda, even if i let you go, you still have a son. One day he will grow up and try to take away my rights”

Walda shifted and get on her knees.

“He’s just a baby… I swear, I will make sure he won’t do it. I won’t tell him that he’s your brother”

Ramsay forcibly pulled out the bundle from her arms and she let out a short cry. I stepped closer and put my hand on his shoulder, looking down on the kid in his arms.

“Maybe we should kill the mother and keep him” I spoke thoughtfully.

Ramsay looked at me surprised as if i lost my mind.

“Why? Do you suddenly feel some remorse?”

I shook my head with a smile.

“No, but he still has your blood. You may raise him as your own son, teach him to respect you and you won’t have to worry about getting an heir. He’s in age to be your son”

Ramsay hesitated at my words but then chuckled.

“That would work, but I would prefer my own child. Especially the one you will carry me soon”

He reached one hand and playfully slapped my ass. Then he looked again at the bundle in his arm. I noticed that despite his ruthless nature, he seemed to have a sort of sympathy for his little brother. I wondered if he’s gonna eventually use my idea or some of his own, and keep him alive. But after a few moments Ramsay spoke in low, gravelly voice:

“You have a pretty son, Walda. And you’re right, he’s my blood. So i will show him mercy”

Walda seemed relieved for a short moment before Ramsay took a swing and crushed the kid's head against a stone, then threw his lifeless body on the ground. Walda screamed loudly, her voice was full of despair and grief. She cried, hiding her face in her hands, trying not to look at her son’s body.

“Why?!?” she whined. “You said you will show him mercy!”

“And I did” he spoke in deadly serious voice “I gave him a quick death. But don’t worry, you will soon meet him again”

He waved his hand and with a loud howl, all hounds jumped on Walda. She screamed in pain under their claws and teeth. Ramsay observed it with satisfaction. He pulled me closer to himself, embracing my waist with his hands. He left a few warm wet kisses on my neck. As he pressed against my back, I could feel his growing excitement, hardness in his pants pressing into my ass. His hand wandered onto my stomach and he whispered into my ear:

“Once my hounds finish feeding, I think we will start trying for my own heir, my Lady. Do you think you want to conceive my son in the luxurious bed, like a proper lady, or here, on the forest ground?”

I smirked lightly.

“Hmm, I think we should teach him love for woods and hunting from the beginning”

[sikudastoner]

Hii!

31. From the medieval prompt list? 🫶

Helloooooo *waves*

I had the same prompt requested recently for Darren and Nadya and I chose the other one, therefore I'm going to write for Darren and Nadya again except Regency AU. I kinda got lazy with the ending, but I like it.

TW: Darren being prejudice off the gate, toxicity???

Since Darren Lannister had turned five and ten, the ambitious mamas of Westeros had thrown their eligible daughters in his face. All mediocre to poor choices to be Lady of Casterly Rock. Buck tooth, talentless, stout, brainless, lazy eye, accidently stepped on his foot, ginger, wore the wrong ballroom shoes...

There wasn't a flaw Darren couldn't find. He was his father's son after all.

He wasn't marrying for love. Love was for the bachelors who had no title, no land, no prospects. For footboys who ogled their ladies' or servants who needed a sliver of pleasure to uphold their sanity. Love was not a luxury he could afford.

You cannot have it all. Tywin's voice echoed in his head. You must choose the most strategic alliance for House Lannister.

Hypocritical, since he married for love twice, but his logic was sound.

The most strategical alliances would've been one of the Stark girls, or Margaery Tyrell - the most sought after lady on the season. Alas, Sansa Stark and Margaery Tyrell's attention was wasted on King Joffrey Baratheon. He huffed as he shifted his weight, glancing at the inauthentic display of chivalry Joffrey offered to these ladies.

Not that he knew any better. He was smooth as cobblestone. Any potential suitress gave up on cracking his shell.

Except for one.

There wasn't a lord, knight, or gentleman who passed up a chance to fill Nadya Dormaire's dance card. Robb Stark asked for her hand in a dance not once but twice. Theon Greyjoy, Ramsey "Bolton", King Joffrey Baratheon - Seven Hells, even his brother Jaime had the pleasure of dancing with her. Jaime danced with no one. Each man that approached her made him fume with a feeling he could not put into words.

She's nothing to me. She's nothing to me. Just someone to warm my pillow...

Nadya's dance card had been full and her feet ached from standing and being swifted across the floor nonstop. When the last name on her card had disbanded, she occupied a seat near the concession table decorated full of macarons, tarts, and biscuits. She reached over for a macaron, letting the subtle sweetness linger on her tongue.

Darren found this to be a chance to seek her for one last dance before they retired to his chambers. He casually strolled over to the table, taking the ladle from the punch bowl and dipping it into the red liquid. He poured the punch into a cup, handing it over to the bone-tired girl.

"Thank you, Darren." Nadya feigned their acquittance, as they agreed on.

"You're quite in demand tonight, Lady Dormaire." Darren played along, trying to restrain from any notes of- no, it couldn't be envy.

"Most men are not oblivious to what's in front of them."

He did not miss her meaning, but chose to ignore it. "May I ask who you have your eye on?"

"You may not."

A wise choice. He would've had a... talk, with her first choice.

"I can assure you that the man I choose to wed will feel for me the same way I feel for him." Nadya threw in his face. He knew she was growing tired of their affair, that she wanted more than nights in his bed and mornings of him slipping away.

"I pray for the same, my lady. I've heard whispers from your suitors, some unsavory, others worthy of your affection." Darren reported to her, in both attempts to scare her away from her choices and to reconsider a safe match.

"Might I ask what you've overheard?"

He placed his hand over his heart, his eyes feigning sincerity. "I, as Heir to Casterly Rock, would never repeat back what these self-proclaimed gentlemen said, their audacity is beyond repetition. All I can say is, I wouldn't trust my eldest brother."

Jaime was his only real competition. There wasn't a woman in the Seven Kingdoms who didn't want him. Robb Stark? A boy. Theon Greyjoy? Pathetic. Joffrey? Idiotic. Lymond? Well... he always managed to escape balls for his own pursuits.

"Nonetheless, thank you for your concern, Lord Lannister." Nadya gave her courtesies with a small nod. It seems she was picking up on his fibs, unimpressed with his attempts to manipulate her.

There was a tense silence as Darren waited for her to comment on the ladies he danced with that night. Perhaps she was too occupied to notice, perhaps she didn't care. He poured another cup of punch for himself, offering a stiff, closed mouthed smile. "I'll leave you to rest your feet."

-

"Your name is on the lips of courtiers, but it is my heart that whispers it at night."

Darren crossed out the last line of his draft, crumpling the insufficient letter over to his bin. Writing letters was not his strong suit. He wasn't sentimental like Maeby or Lymond. Maybe tomorrow they could assist him on writing some adequate poem.

He buried his head into his hands, letting out a stifled groan. No one needed to hear his frustrations, but he had to relieve himself somehow.

Nadya hadn't come to his chambers that night. Nor the night after, or the night after that. It killed him, wondering if he'd been replaced by any of those men she danced with. That he would never see her again, she'd move into a castle in the countryside. That he'd become a mistake.

Lymond, of course, noticed Darren's change. His snappiness towards servants, how he'd sneer at the sight of husbands and wives arm in arm, how his shoulders somehow tensed more than they did before. He pieced the puzzle together when he found the discarded love letter in his bin.

-

"Nadya!" Lymond greeted joyfully at the next ball. "How wonderful it is to see you. You are vision tonight, your dance card must be full already."

There wasn't a lady who was immune to Lymond's compliments, even Nadya who beamed with flattery. "Thank you, Lymond. I hope your family is in good health."

"All except for one." He slipped the folded up letter into her hands as he moved passed her. That ought to get things patched up between them.

[writingsofwesteros]

pack nanny

After the thorough humiliation at the hand of the respected family man Ned Stark, the Nanny decides to steer back to the righteous path and continue with her life. She finds herself a nice boyfriend, Theon, in the hopes that he'll make her forget the exquisite torture she experienced getting punished by her employer.

At work she's propriety incarnate: never stepping out of line and taking excellent care of the children. If she sometimes forgets to button up that shirt at the neck, well, she's got her hands full with the five Starklings - who could blame her?

Ned has been wondering, what the hell was wrong with him? Undressing and spanking one of his staff, an innocent girl, right under Catelyn's nose? What was he thinking? If Catelyn finds out, his whole life will fall apart! Him, the respected father and citizen, molesting a girl half his age, abusing his position like that? He can hardly recognize himself.

He's made a vow to stop fantasizing about the nanny. A vow he breaks almost instantly. When making love to his Cat, he wishes he had the nanny's full breast under his palm, instead of his wife's. When Catelyn moans, he can't help thinking: what sounds would the dear nanny make, when bouncing on his cock?

She's so young. Could it be that she's a virgin? Ned feels himself harden at the mere thought that he could be the nanny's first... Just what the hell is wrong with him?

And then he sees her, one evening, on his way home from work. She is parading around town, wearing a skimpy sundress, hanging on the arm of that no-good Greyjoy brat, and it makes Ned see red. All caution is thrown to the wind.

He HAS TO have the nanny, no matter the cost. But his wife can never know...

!!!!!!!!!!!

DARK TW!

He follows her; the drink causing the girl to move out of the club that Theon was still enjoying. The dress rising up as she rests on the alley wall.

She just needed to breath.

"And here I thought you were a good girl." A deep, family voice comes from behind her but a larger hand is on her mouth before she can turn

[silveraurea]

The lion cub

cr: pinterest

Pairings: OFC x Ned Stark

Summary: Ned Stark returns to Winterfell. Furious for the disappearance of his lady, he imprisons Tyrion. King Robert arrives with an offer. Myrren disguises as Theon Greyjoy’s slave.

TW: age gap; angst; enemies to lovers; death; sex.

════════ ≪ •❁• ≫ ═══════

Chapter 10

The white horse proudly neighed under the snow. A black cloak descended from it, boots sweeping the castle’s floor. Held the lion handkerchief in his hands. “Myrren!”, Ned shouted, failing to hide his desire, ten nights without his lady passed slower than a year.

Each room he entered, the servants bowed and hurriedly left. “Myrren!”, he kept shouting. There was no sight of the pearl curls, the long veil, the golden claws. Ned arrived in her chambers, sighed, he found no fun on such games of hide-and-seek. The pet lioness laid on the bed, hissed at his approach. Found Dina tidying up her lady’s jewelry in boxes. “Where is your lady?”.

Dina bowed. “I haven’t seen her, my lord”, her eyes were set on the lioness, her tone direct.

“Since when?!”. Silence bestowed, and maids shivered at her glare. Even his little Arya couldn’t tell.

Maester Luwin showed him the account books. “I told her to take some rest, my lord, but she insisted. On the next day, laid written the predicted expenses for the next six months!”.

The silver eyes danced around the office. “Can’t be…!”.

“Lady Lannister was not found ever since. The maids fret at the mention of her name”.

Eddard was quick to find Dina again. Pressed her neck agains the wall. “What happened to Lady Lannister?! Tell me or you die!”.

“Lady Lannister said anyone who denounced her whereabouts must die”, she gasped. “There is a message for you”.

“What message?!”.

Dina put her hands on his, asking to release her. Ned put his sword on her neck, and let her take a grey silk from a chest. Dina unrolled it on the floor, and knelt before him, touching the head on the floor.

The silk rolled from the solar to the corridor, reached the stairs and ended near his office. Meticulously embroidered in silk, cotton and precious stones, the figures seemed to tell a story. Ned recognized the white fortress from Casterly Rock, three lions fighting, one big lion, a lion cub. A lion, a stag and three little lions. A lion stepped on the little cub. An octopus had a fish on its tentacles. Winterfell, the little cub circled by wolves. The godswood. He didn’t dare to touch such beautiful work.

“Lady Lannister worked on this silk for every night she waited for you”.

The silver eyes saw water. Even after he apologized and begged for forgiveness, his lioness bitterly reminded him of his wrongs. He would never be worthy of her.

“Did she say why?”.

“My lady only said to not send troops after her. The North shouldn’t be involved”.

Ned looked at the swirling snow from the solar. He could almost see the white hair on his hands, touch the soft lips with his fingers. The leather glove hid his tears, his wife had abandoned him, her lord husband, and the position he bestowed upon her. In the end, Myrren was indeed a lioness, attached only to her greed.

“Jory”, he called. The esquire appeared right behind him. “Have men search in every city and port. If they find her, bring her to Winterfell, where she will be released upon explaining her mission to me, her lord husband”.

Five days later, the imp was seen in Winterfell, pushed by a guard, wearing cotton rags. Swords welcomed him. “Aye, ‘tis Lord Tyrion of Casterly Rock!”, shouted Ned from behind. “I’ll let you live if you return my sweet Myrren”.

“Ned, with all due respect”, his finger tried to lower a sword, with no success. “She was the one who kidnapped me”.

“Why did she take you?”.

“That I cannot reveal. I’m too grateful for my life”.

The wolf grunted. Contemplated the bravery of his lioness, who dared to threaten her loyal brother to meet her ends. “Take him to the dungeons”, he ordered, “Shut him from all light. Let’s see the limits of your gratitude”.

The sound of seagulls filled her ears. The amber eye saw men walking to and from the ship, lifting nets of fish. A tall man with golden short hair and beard approached, the barrel’s lid was removed. Took his hand.

“I hope you had a pleasant trip, my lady”.

Myrren had difficulty finding her balance, two weeks sitting among dead fish made her constantly nauseous. “You must be Jorah Mormont”.

“And you must be Lady Stark”.

“Lady Lannister”, she corrected him, “My husband has nothing to do with this”.

The man looked down, then to her. Strange for a Lannister to have white hair. Nonetheless, he was generously paid to escort her, a price for his freedom. “How may I be of service?”.

“You’re a slave trader”. The blue eyes met hers. “I want you to sell me to Theon Greyjoy”.

The crowned stag banner entered the gates of Winterfell, accompanied by the dashing king’s guard. King Robert got down from his horse, greeted the Stark children with his queen, saw his old friend. “Ned”, he greeted. “It’s been a year since I last saw you. Where is your lioness?”. Ned pulled him aside. Cersei frowned.

The little hands hid the eyes from the bean of light. Tied to a chain, Tyrion was left to his own misery, and the sudden sight of golden hair made him shiver.

“Little brother. I thought you’d be smarter than this. How long have you been here?”.

Trapped in the endless darkness, he could not tell day from night. “My queen”, he greeted, “Time has lost its meaning”.

“Where the hell is Myrren?!”.

“She kidnapped me”, he recited the words as he did every day, a prayer that kept him alive.

“Very funny”, she grinned. “I spent a whole month traveling this far north, all for a stupid offer, and this is what I find! Tell me where is the little cub, and I’ll tell father to send troops. We cannot risk another scandal!”.

Tyrion mingled with his fingers. “I would, if I knew where she went”.

“Fine. Rot in here then, I care not if you die”. The imp was swallowed by darkness once more.

Grey wax melted in the candle, and were turned into the wolf’s sigil over a sealed letter. Ahead, the door was shut open, and Eddard hoped he would see the wild pearl curls, the fierce amber eyes to scold him. Instead, the hair was gold, the eyes were green, but the woman was just as feral.

“My queen”, he greeted.

“Did you know why the little cub was sent North?”.

Ned gave the letter to Jory, asked him to close the door. “Was it not to breed lions and gift you eyes? Whatever the cost?”.

“This alliance was too expensive. I hoped she would be eaten by the wolves, by the cold of your neglect, but who would have thought she would run away?”.

The wolf showed her the scars of a warrior, the dark circles of a husband. When he first realized Myrren’s absence, anger muddled his thoughts, but he soon realized she would not leave for a simple quest. He remembered the hot tears on her face, the handkerchief, the accounts, it was all a warning she would leave and expected one day to return. However, it shocked him only Tyrion was willing to defend her.

“Is blood the only bond you share with my wife? Did you truly wish her death?”.

“I prayed every day for it��. Cersei poured wine on a chalice, sat on the table. “Secrets are of little use now. Did you know the little cub was, in fact, a dragon?”, she scoffed. “Father was stupid enough to believe she was his daughter. When she arrived in Casterly Rock, the white-silver hair sentenced death to us all. It was a matter of time before the golden curls turned white. Such waste of a good joke. You tell me. Would Robert spare any of us? Will my children be safe while she lives?”.

Ned faced down. The moment Myrren’s hair became white, the fate of the seven kingdoms was tossed in a coin. A dragon with three heads, blinded by the fire of vengeance. Ned’s eyes were lost in the fire, consumed by the possibility of another war. The lord of Winterfell had no shame on starting it, as long as his wife was safe.

“Where lies Tywin Lannister in all this? News travel fast, why isn’t he looking for his beloved daughter?”, he paused. “Is he too afraid of Robert’s wrath?”.

The queen frowned. The only person her father was capable of loving was the little cub. Why was he silent?

“Your king’s offer. Such great responsibility, I might just refuse. Have your father serve as hand. I’m busy with family affairs”.

“You forget you hold Tyrion as a prisoner”.

“The imp is my special guest. He will enjoy the North’s hospitality until there are news of my wife. If there is none until the next moon, Tywin Lannister will be accused as a traitor to the crown for hiding the princess of Dragonstone”.

He paused, saw the golden hair bounce in fury, he would let her drink of her own poison. Took a moment to write his decree, signed it. Handled it to Jory. “Escort Her Grace to her chambers. She needs rest after such long trip”.

The bare feet climbed on the table. Around her, men laid on the floor among coins and swords, taken by wine. The claws touched the chandelier, fingers flew on the air as the legs begun the dance, twirling to the harp’s melody.

Across the hall, a man with hair to his shoulders and an innocent mustache watched the slave dancer. The green eyes squinted at the sight of the pearl white curls, porcelain skin and claws made of iron.

“A Valyrian beauty”, said Jorah, sitting beside him. “A rarity these days”.

The squid made lord watched the dance carefully. Ever since he was held hostage in Winterfell because of his father’s rebellion, life became harsh. Taken by hatred, Theon had all motives to agree to the Lannister plan, all to live in a mountain made of gold across the narrow sea. As his fortune grew with the years, he would gain strength and support his father again. They would be unstoppable. But now, filled the chalice with wine, he could enjoy a little more. Such dance slaves were expensive, the more one with Valyrian traces.

Theon approached the table. Such beauty, such delicate movements were typically taught in King’s Landing. Only the brothel of Littlefinger could have such refined taste. “The gods indulge me, their blessings are endless. Ser Jorah, this dancer is indeed a rarity”.

Offered his hand. Myrren took it, reached the floor and knelt in front of him. Theon lifted her chin, suddenly the traces were familiar, but he had never seen such striking white on hair. “Your face, I may have seen it from somewhere”.

“A peculiar beauty, my lord, bastard to a king”.

His eyes widened. The golden squid laughed, “I know who this is! ‘Tis the Lannister bitch!”. His hands pressed her neck, lifted her to face him. “What are you doing across the narrow sea? The wolves finally put you in your place? Aye, the moment I saw you and your golden curls and the dashing Robb following you around like a dog!”.

Theon’s laugh became hysterical. “Who would tell you married the big wolf! I bet Lady Lannister came to thank me for my great deed!”. He maintained a hand on her neck, another pulled her tunic and ripped it to him, revealing the porcelain body.

The squid put her on the table, climbed over the naked body and the amber eyes saw rage, one hand on his cock was enough and she, pretending to put it inside her, instead met his throat with a dagger. Theon fell over her, she rolled out of the table and the dagger advanced on his neck, its sharp end appearing on the tips of the chestnut hair. Took the sword from Jorah’s belt, laid sentence on the traitor of Lady Stark, the head rolled across the table. Put it on a velvet yellow sack, would be a fine gift.

Covered in blood, Myrren took off her dagger and cleaned it on the ripped tunic. “Send the body to Lord Tully”, she ordered, “say Lady Lannister paid her debt”. Jorah bowed, “Yes, my lady”.

[writingbylee]

Part One

series masterlist // next part

Character: original female character Lyanna Stark (twin sister to Robb Stark)

Rating: Mature (NO MINORS)

CW/TW: Canon-typical violence and death, animal death

word count: 8.3k

I KNOW i know okay it's a lot

banner by: @samspenandsword

298 AC: The Day The Direwolves Are Found

“Alright!” Rodrick Cassel called out from the side of the training yard. Lyanna and Jon separated from where they had been standing with their dull training swords locked against each other. Both of them were breathing heavily, and Lyanna had a slight smile across her face. “Gods be good, you’ve been going at it for minutes on end! Don’t the two of you ever get tired?” Ser Rodrick asked as he walked up to the two of them, holding his hands out for their swords. Lyanna and Jon offered them up without protest as Jon finally started to smile.

“I’ll be tired when I win.” Jon said, earning himself a shove from Lyanna.

“Which you did not, I might add.” Lyanna raised an eyebrow at her half brother. Jon waved a hand at her and scoffed.

“Another draw.” Ser Rodrick called out, earning a few polite claps from the various men gathered around the training yard. Jon and Lyanna both looked up to the walkway that surrounded the Winterfell courtyards, looking for their father. 

“Well fought, both of you.” Lord Eddard Stark called down to the two of them. 

“Thank you, father.” Lyanna called back, walking over to where her father stood with Jon a few steps behind.

“Thank you, my lord.” Jon said, bowing as he came to stand next to Lyanna.

“Lyanna, don’t forget to keep your guard up after you follow through on a strike.” Ned said, and Lyanna nodded.

“And Jon, you are stronger than her but she’s faster than you. You have to remember that your strength should work for you, not against you.” Jon bowed again at his father’s words.

“Yes, my lord.” Lyanna looked over at Jon with a slight frown. 

“Robb! Theon!” Ser Rodrick called out and the other two walked out into the field. They were posturing to each other, brandishing their swords and Lyanna rolled her eyes. She took her makeshift helmet off and walked towards the archery targets, where Bran was trying to lift a longbow. She could feel Jon behind her as they both left Robb and Theon to wail on each other. 

“Bran, you know that bow is too big for you.” Lyanna said, snatching the weapon from his hands. 

“Lyanna!” Bran frowned up at her. “Ser Rodrick told me to practice my archery.” 

“And so you will.” Jon said, having already pulled out the smaller bow they all used as children. “Just with something more your size.” He held the bow out to Bran, who took it with a sigh.

“It’s no use.” Bran whined as Jon and Lyanna gently led him to the marksman line. “I’m a terrible shot.” Bran’s older siblings made eye contact over his head and did their best to cover up their laughs.

“Which is why you practice.” Lyanna said, turning to look for a hip quiver that would fit Bran. She walked over to the first one she saw, leaving Jon to give Bran more of a pep talk.

“Your sisters and I missed you today with the septa.” Lyanna straightened up as she heard her mother's voice call down from the walkway. 

“My apologies, mother.” Lyanna sketched a quick curtsy, or the closest thing to one that she could manage in her leather armor. “Ser Rodrick had already called us for training when I received your message.” Lady Catelyn Stark sniffed at Lyanna’s words, clearly still upset that her eldest daughter had any weapons training at all. Lyanna maintained her polite look away from her mother’s eyes. Her mother knew that it was her own neglect of Lyanna that led Ned to allow her to train with her brothers in the first place, but it wasn’t Lyanna’s place to remind her mother of that.

“You will join us after supper then.” Catelyn said, phrasing it as a question; but Lyanna knew an order when she heard one.

“If you wish it.” Lyanna responded, and gave her mother another curtsy before walking back to her brothers. “Here, Bran.” She held the quiver out to him as Jon took the bow from his hands. Bran quickly belted on the quiver and held his hand out for the bow. He took a deep breath and began to draw his first arrow. Lyanna and Jon both took hearty steps back as Bran began to try and pull the bowstring back.

“What did your mother want?” Jon whispered to Lyanna, the both of them knowing that if they kept low tones, those on the walkway above wouldn’t be able to hear them.

“To scold me for training instead of needlepointing with Sansa and Arya.” Lyanna replied, her resentment coloring her words. “And to inform me that it is expected that I join them after supper.” Jon winced in commiseration. Catelyn had always hated Jon; he was a bastard. But because of Jon, Catelyn ignored Robb and Lyanna for years as a way to punish Ned. Lyanna had been raised by a septa for a few years, before the septa gave up trying to wrangle her. Lyanna wanted to do what her brothers were doing, and Ned had no reason to deny her. By the time Catelyn cared enough to dispute Ned’s decision, it was too late. Lyanna would be trained and schooled along with the boys, with the added bonus of learning some ‘womanly’ skills alongside her much younger sister Sansa. 

Bran let out a frustrated groan that snapped Lyanna out of her thoughts. She sighed and walked up to him, placing a few more arrows into his quiver.

“It’s alright, Bran. Take a deep breath.” She said, crouching down to be at his eye level. Bran blew a large breath out of his nose and nodded. Lyanna smiled and squeezed his arm, before standing up and making her way back to Jon. She looked up as she did, and saw that her father and mother had taken up watching Bran together. She heard little footsteps pounding down the stairs and she smiled as her youngest brother Rickon slammed into her legs. She feigned a stumble and clutched her chest. “Uh! You’re getting so strong!” She said, bending down and picking Rickon up. She settled him on her hip as he giggled.

“I gotcha!” He said, a toothless smile on his face. 

“You certainly did.” Lyanna heard Robb’s voice over her shoulder and turned to face him. Robb held his hands out and Rickon went willingly into his older brother’s arms. Robb set Rickon down on a saddled wooden horse as Bran continued to miss the target. Jon walked up to give Bran another pep talk and some pointers, and Lyanna made her way towards Robb.

“Theon?” She whispered, an eyebrow raised. Robb handed Rickon a small wooden sword and turned to face his sister.

“Cassel got a message, took Theon with him to hear it.” Robb replied. The twins turned to watch Bran again, who pulled back the bow string and hit a barrel two feet from the target. Bran kicked the dirt as Jon walked up to him. He put his hands on Bran’s shoulders and bent down.

“Go on.” He said, squeezing Bran’s shoulders in comfort. “Father’s watching.” Bran turned back and looked up, Jon following suit. Ned nodded at Bran to continue with a smile on his face. “And your mother.” Jon finished, before taking a step back to join Lyanna and Robb. They all stood while Bran nocked another arrow, pulled the bowstring back as far as he could, and loosed the arrow. It sailed straight over the wall and into the forest beyond. Robb and Lyanna both snorted, unable to hold it in any longer. Jon let out a laugh, turning to look away from Bran. Rickon giggled along with them.

“And which one of you was a marksman at ten?” Ned called out, and the three of them went silent. Ned looked at Bran and smiled. “Keep practicing, Bran.” Barb smiled up at his father and went to prepare another arrow. Lyanna caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and saw a small girl in a blue dress in her peripheral. Her little sister Arya crept up underneath the walkway with her own bow and started to look around for an arrow. “Go on.” Ned nodded towards Bran. Jon leaned down again.

“Try not to think too much, Bran.” He said.

“Relax your bow arm.” Robb offered as they all watched Bran pull the bowstring back again. An arrow sailed past Jon’s elbow and Bran’s shoulder to sink into the bullseye of the target in front of them. The three brothers turned to see what Lyanna had already spotted, Arya with a bow in hand. She had a proud smirk on her face, and made a small curtsy as her brothers turned to look at her. Robb, Lyanna, and Jon all broke into laughter as Bran threw down his bow and chased after Arya. Arya dropped her own bow and began to scramble away from Bran. “Get her, Bran!” Robb called out.

“Faster, Arya!” Jon hollered just after. The two brothers turned to look at each in mock anger as Lyanna rolled her eyes.

“Come on, Rickon.” She walked over to the six year old and lifted him off his pretend horse. “Help me gather these arrows.” He grabbed his sister’s hand as they walked over to the targets and began to pick up all of Bran’s missed shots. Jon picked up Bran’s quiver and hung it back on a post, before sticking the arrows left in it into the barrel. Rickon began running back and forth between Jon and Lyanna, ferrying arrows from one to the other. Robb bent down and picked up Bran’s bow and began to walk back to the weapons shed. Theon came down the stairs and walked towards Robb.

“We’re to saddle our horses. They’ve captured a deserter from the Night’s Watch.” Jon and Lyanna both turned to look at him. Jon’s look went even more somber than usual. 

“We’ll be ready.” Lyanna answered, having shooed Rickon back to their mother.

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Theon bit out in her direction.

“If you’re going, so are we.” Jon responded, coming to stand next to Lyanna. Theon huffed and walked away towards the stables. Robb sighed and walked over to Lyanna and Jon. 

“Why do you have to fight with him all the time?” Robb asked, and Lyanna turned to him. 

“I’ll stop fighting with him when he stops being a prick.” She said, as Jon snorted at her language and tried to cover it up. Robb hesitated for a second, and then nodded. 

“I’ll talk to him about it.” He said and Lyanna sighed. 

“Let’s hope it sticks this time.” Lyanna said over her shoulder as she walked back into the castle. She was the only one who had to change, and even though she didn’t think her father would leave without her, she’d rather not risk it.

She pushed the door open to her room, already halfway out of her leathers. “Alys?” She called out, setting her breastplate down on the table in her solar. 

“Lady Lyanna! You have a visitor.” Alys, Lyanna’s favorite lady-in-waiting, came bustling out from Lyanna’s bedchamber. 

“What?” Lyanna turned to see Arya peeking out from behind Alys’s skirts. “Arya Stark.” Lyanna put her hands on her hips and cocked her head. 

“The gray, my lady?” Alys called, taking Lyanna’s armor and heading back into the bedchamber. 

“Yes, Alys, thank you!” Lyanna called back, before waving Arya over. Lyanna sat down at the table and began to unlace her boots. “You are supposed to be with the septa.” Lyanna said, not looking over at Arya. 

“Why does Bran get to go?” Arya said, slumping in the chair next to Lyanna. “It’s not fair, I’m older than him!” Lyanna toed off her boot and sighed.

“I didn’t get to go when I was Bran’s age.” Lyanna said, neglecting to mention that she was definitely going when she was Arya’s age because of a very similar argument. Lyanna watched the fight sink out of Arya’s small frame as her younger sister slumped back in her chair.

“Oh.” Arya grumbled and Lyanna sighed. She stood up after kicking her boots off and went into her bedchamber.

“Arya.” Lyanna came back out a few moments later, in a relatively plain gray dress with Stark heraldry embroidered across the hem and the sleeves. Her sister perked up as Lyanna came back and sat down. “I’ll make you a deal.” Lyanna laced up her boots as she spoke, watching out of the corner of her eye as Arya took in the detailed embroidery across her hem. It was a scene of a wolfpack running through a forest, and the tree detailing carried over into the cuffs of the sleeves. “If you reach Sansa’s age–” 

“Thirteen?” Arya interrupted and Lyanna huffed a quick breath out of her nose. “Sorry.” Arya immediately apologized and Lyanna smiled as she stood up.

“Yes, thirteen. If you are thirteen and Father is still refusing to let you go, then I will sneak you with me. But not before!” Lyanna held up a finger as she turned to let Alys throw a fur cloak over her shoulders. Arya grinned up at Lyanna from her chair.

“You’re my favorite sister.” Arya whispered as Lyanna finished belting the cloak over her dress, the fur draping around her shoulders. Lyanna tilted her head at Arya, trying and failing to be stern.

“I’ll see you when we get back.” Lyanna dropped a kiss on top of Arya’s head and walked out of her room.

Lyanna pulled up the reins on her horse, pushing up on one foot to look over the head of the soldier in front of her. “Apologies, milady. There’s something in the road.” Lyanna looked over at her brother and they both swung off their horses. She passes the reins to the man nearest her as she walks forward. Lyanna’s nose wrinkled as the smell of old death reached her nose.

“There’s no mountain lions in these woods.” Ned said, standing up from where he had been crouched to get a better look at the dead stag in the middle of the road. He began to walk to the side, following a trail of blood and gore that led further into the woods. He drew his sword as he walked, and Robb and Theon jumped at the chance to follow directly behind him. Bran had come forward off his horse, and Jon let him go between Lyanna and himself. Lyanna drew her hunting knife as the rest of the men pulled out their swords. She hated that she didn’t have her own sword with her, but it was practically impossible to wear the scabbard at the same time as a dress. 

The group moved slowly into the tree line, and Lyanna watched as her father stepped down the ridge and crouched again; this time in front of a massive wolf with an antler lodged in its throat. Lyanna looked over at Robb as she heard the sound of yips and squeals, and noticed the pups surrounding the dead wolf.

“It’s a freak!” Theon remarked, looking at Ned for confirmation. 

“It’s a direwolf.” Ned stated, ignoring Theon completely. Lyanna straightened up as Ned looked over at Ser Rodrick. “Tough old beast.” He stated, wrenching free the antler of the stag. 

“There are no direwolves south of the Wall.” Robb said, and Lyanna did her best not to roll her eyes.

“Now there are six.” Jon stated, having moved up to crouch down next to Ned. He gestured towards the pups as he said it. Jon reached out and gently picked one up. The wolf up was mostly tan, with a white underbelly of puppy fur that hadn’t grown out yet. “Do you want to hold it?” He asked Bran, who froze with wide eyes and then nodded. Jon thrust the wolf into Bran’s arms, and Bran cradled it like a baby. Ser Rodrick and Ned were still looking at each other with grave faces. 

“Where will they go?” Bran asked, the wolf pup nestling into the fur of his cloak. “Their mother is dead.”

“They don’t belong down here.” Ser Rodrick said, his deep voice a stark contrast to Bran’s. 

“Better a quick death.” Ned proclaimed, standing up and sheathing his sword. “They won’t survive without their mother.” Theon hopped down to Bran at Ned’s words.

“Right.” Theon said, and pulled a knife. “Give it here.”

“No!” Bran shouted and curled away from Theon, tucking the wolf closer to his body. Theon grabbed it by the scruff of its fur and pulled it away from Bran.

“Put away your blade.” Lyanna bit out, taking a step closer to Theon.

“I take orders from your father. Not you.” Theon sneered at her. Lyanna bristled and took another step.

“Please Father!” Bran turned to Ned.

“I’m sorry, Bran.” Ned said, and reached a hand out to lead Bran away.

“Lord Stark?” Jon called out, still looking down at the five remaining pups. “There are six pups. One for each of the Stark children.” Ned stopped and turned to look at Jon. “The direwolf is the sigil of your house. They were meant to have them.” All eyes turned to Ned. 

“You will train them yourselves. You will feed them yourselves. And if they die, you will bury them yourselves.” Ned stated, turning away from the scene. 

“Thank you, Father.” Bran said, smiling down at the wolf in his arms. Theon sheathed his knife, and after a moment, so did Lyanna. Jon bent down and picked up two of the pups and handed them off to Robb. Robb passed them to Lyanna, and then took two more for himself. Jon picked up the last one and turned to walk away. “What about you?” Bran asked, looking up at Jon. Jon looked at Robb and Lyanna and then back at Bran.

“I’m not a Stark.” He said, and both twins looked down at the ground. “Go on.” Jon jerked his chin back towards the horses. Bran turned to go and they all began to walk away when Lyanna noticed that Jon had stopped a few feet from the dead wolf.

“What is it?” She asked, as the rest of them came to a stop. Jon hesitated and then took a step into the underbrush. He reached out towards something and lifted up another wolf pup, all white and smaller than the rest.

“Ah, the runt of the litter.” Theon said, and Lyanna could already hear the cruel glee in his voice. “That one’s yours, Snow.” Jon looked at the small white wolf and then back at Robb and Lyanna. Robb had a slight smile on his face, and Lyanna had raised her eyebrows. Theon turned and began to walk back towards the horses. Lyanna hung back to walk with Jon, and knocked her shoulder into his.

“You are a Stark.” She whispered, and then nodded down to the wolf in his arms. “Even the Old Gods know it.” 

298 AC: The Day of King Robert Baratheon’s Arrival at Winterfell

“Lyanna!” Sansa’s voice shouted from Lyanna’s bedroom door. “Please let me in, I need you to tell me if what I’m wearing is alright! The King is supposed to be here any minute.” Lyanna sighed and smiled at her lady in waiting. 

“Alys, would you mind letting her in? I’ll keep putting this on.” Lyanna asked and Alys nodded. Lyanna continued to pull on her dark green dress, thanking the Old Gods that she had convinced her mother to let her wear a Northern style dress instead of a Southern style with their characteristic long sleeves. Alys came back into the bedroom, with Sansa close behind her. Alys stepped behind Lyanna and began lacing up the back.

“Well?” Sansa stood up as straight as she could. Lyanna looked over her sister and gave her a fond smile.

“Light blue?” Lyanna asked, and raised an eyebrow. Sansa smiled and swished her skirts around her ankles.

“Like Aunt Lyanna.” Sansa said and then her hands flew to her hair. “Oh! Would you do my hair? I want it braided like Aunt Lyanna’s was in all the stories.” Lyanna felt Alys pat her back, silently signaling that her dress was laced.

“Only if you go find your sister. I’ll need to do both of your hair before the King arrives.” Lyanna said, and Sansa frowned.

“Arya will just take out whatever you do.” She said and Lyanna sighed. She sat down on her bed and reached a hand out for her sister.

“She might.” Lyanna nodded and squeezed Sansa’s hand. “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. A lady should always be kind to those around her, even those who get on her nerves.” Sansa took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “How do you think I’ve put up with Theon all this time?” Lyanna gently nudged Sansa, who smiled and opened her eyes.

“I’ll go get her.” Sansa swept into a deep curtsy, which Lyanna laughed at and waved off, before rushing out of Lyanna’s bedchamber. Alys sighed.

“You’re too good with those girls, milady.” Alys said, as she gestured for Lyanna to get up to her feet. “Now come on! If your sisters are both coming in to get their hair done, yours needs to be done by the time they arrive.” Lyanna sighed and sat down in a chair in her solar. Her direwolf padded closer, already the size of a large puppy, and nudged Lyanna’s hand. She reached out to pet the wolf, and she plopped her head in Lyanna’s lap. 

“Nothing too fancy, Alys. I’m not trying to impress anyone.” Lyanna said and Alys let out a snort as she began to run a comb through Lyanna’s dark brown waves.

“No hairdos like your aunt then?” Alys said, and Lyanna turned around with a look of mock horror on her face.

“That’s the last thing I want to remind the King about.” Lyanna said, shivering in distaste that was mostly for show, causing both women to smile at each other. Alys started to weave Lyanna’s hair into its standard three strand braid down her back, allowing a few strands to fall forward and frame her face. 

Eventually Sansa came back, with Arya in tow. Arya grumbled about getting her hair done, until Lyanna whispered in her ear that the sooner she got her hair done, the sooner she could sneak out of the castle to watch the procession. Arya sat still after that, waiting patiently as Lyanna braided her hair into a small circle at the back of her head. As soon as Lyanna finished, Arya jumped up and bolted out the door, practically running into Robb as he opened it.

“Where is she off to?” Robb asked, coming in and sitting down across from Lyanna. His own direwolf close behind him, running over to Lyanna’s wolf and curling up next to her.

“Never you mind.” Lyanna waved off her twin brother’s questions as Sansa primly sat down on the floor so Lyanna could braid her hair. “Your haircut looks nice.” Lyanna said and Robb ran a rueful hand over his chin.

“Tommy shaved off my beard.” Robb said and Lyanna snorted.

“You call that a beard?” She said, raising an eyebrow. 

“Oi!” Robb shot Lyanna a dirty look and she stuck her tongue out at him. “You haven’t even seen Jon yet.” A sly smile crept across her brother’s face as Lyanna finished up Sansa’s first braid. She got started on the second one when she heard Alys make a noise behind her. She looked up to see Jon at the door, looking sullen in his large Northern furs. Lyanna instantly schooled her features into neutrality.

“Not. A. Word.” Jon said, his all white direwolf peeking through his legs and running into the room to join his siblings. 

“I didn’t say anything.” Lyanna said, looking back down at Sansa’s hair to hide her smile.

“You didn’t have to.” Jon slumped into a chair and groaned.

“Think of it this way!” Robb said, smiling over at his half brother. “You get to stand in the back, so nobody will notice.” Jon glared over at Robb as Lyanna rolled her eyes. 

“All done!” Lyanna said, tying off the last of Sansa’s braids. Sansa jumped up and turned around, leaping into Lyanna’s arms.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!” Sansa practically skipped out of Lyanna’s room, much to Robb and Jon’s delight. 

“What’s got her in such a good mood?” Robb asked, as they heard the horn sound from Winterfell’s outer walls. 

“The prince.” Lyanna sighed as they all stood up.

“I heard he’s not the nicest prince.” Jon said, looking over at Robb.

“I heard he’s a right royal prick.” Lyanna said, causing both Robb and Jon to smack her arms. “What?” She said, looking between the two of them. “You’ve heard the same.”

“Language, Ly! What would Father say?” Robb pretended to look shocked, easily dodging Lyanna’s return smack.

“He’d say nothing, and you know it.” Lyanna rolled her eyes at her brother.

“C’mon. We shouldn’t be late.” Robb said. All three of them led their direwolves back to the kennel before lining up with the rest of their family and household.

Lyanna helped her mother fuss over her younger siblings, lining up Bran and Rickon next to each other and straightening out Sansa’s furs. Lyanna’s own furs were dark brown, matching that of Ned and Robb. Robb stood next to Ned, leaving enough room next to him for Lyanna when she finished with their siblings.

“Where’s Arya?” Catelyn whispered furiously to Lyanna as Rickon refused to leave his mother’s side. Lyanna took a deep breath and looked out into the crowd.

“I’m sure she’s around here somewhere.” Lyanna said, after failing to find her little sister in the crowd. Catelyn huffed and started to push Lyanna towards her spot in the line. 

“Sansa!” Catelyn leaned around the family. “Where’s your sister?” Sansa shrugged, and Catelyn sighed again. At the last second, Arya came running in with a dented helmet on her head. Lyanna and Robb looked at each other and stifled their laughs. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Ned whispered, grabbing Arya by the arm and slowing her down in front of him. “What are you doing with that on?” He lifted the helmet off of his youngest daughter, and Lyanna smiled to herself at the sight of Arya’s braid still securely in place. Ned sighed and shook his head slightly. “Go on.” He gently pushed Arya down the line towards her siblings. Ned looked around for a moment, before handing the helmet off to Ser Rodrick. 

“Move.” Arya said, shoving Bran over to stand next to Sansa. Lyanna glanced over her shoulder to shoot a smile at Jon, both of them remembering a very similar moment a long time ago between the two of them.

The sound of hoofbeats grew louder as the first few horses began to enter Winterfell’s innermost courtyard. First, a member of the Kingsguard, dressed all in gold. Second, a young boy who Lyanna assumed to be the eldest prince, followed closely by a knight with a dog’s face for a helmet. Lyanna and Robb both looked over at Sansa, who was openly staring at the prince and smiling. The prince smiled back and Lyanna and Robb looked at each other before looking forward again. 

A carriage rolled into the courtyard next, with a red top and gilded in gold. Lyanna did her best not to visibly sneer at the Lannister heraldry flapping in the wind. Directly behind the carriage, flanked by four Kingsguard, was the King. Lyanna remembered him briefly from a visit from when she was young, around the time Theon arrived at Winterfell. He looked significantly larger than she remembered, and she only needed to glance out the corner of her eye to know that her brother was thinking the same thing. 

Nonetheless, the entire courtyard dropped to its knees at the King’s entrance. Lyanna refrained from watching the King dismount his horse and walk over to her father, although she was almost positive that she heard stairs being brought over. She kept her gaze on her father’s feet as she waited for the King to approach. She saw her father begin to stand, so the rest of the family and the courtyard stood with him. It felt like the entire courtyard was holding its breath as it waited for the King’s first words.

“Your grace.” Ned’s voice was quiet as he bowed his head in respect.

“You got fat.” King Robert Baratheon proclaimed. Lyanna’s eyes darted to her father’s face. Her father looked the King up and down, and then raised his eyebrows. The King started to laugh, and her father joined in, before the two of them embraced each other. It felt like the entire courtyard sighed in unison. The two men released each other, and the King stepped to the side. “Cat!” 

He leaned in and kissed Catelyn on the cheek as she stuttered out a quick “Your grace.” in return. He ruffled Rickon’s hair before stepping back in front of Ned.

“Nine years. Why haven’t I seen you? Where the hell have you been?” The King’s voice was as gravely as Lyanna remembered it, and she could still see the boisterous personality of Robert Baratheon from the stories her father told of his youth. 

“Guarding the North for you, your grace. Winterfell is yours.” Ned said, still smiling. Lyanna risked a glance behind the King at the carriage, watching two children and a woman step out from it. Lyanna felt a tug on her dress and looked over to see Arya ducking behind Sansa. 

“Where’s the Imp?” She asked, and before Lyanna could say a word, Sansa jumped in.

“Will you shut up!” Sansa whispered angrily. Lyanna shot Sansa a stern look and leaned down to Arya quickly.

“Please be quiet.” She said, and stood back up as the King stepped away from her father.

“Who have we here?” The King stepped in front of her twin brother and looked him up and down. “You must be Robb.” The King held out a hand and Robb gripped it in return. “Bit taller than the last time I saw you.” The King nodded and Robb bowed his head in return.

“Only a bit, your grace.” Robb said, and the King chuckled. He took another step and Lyanna swept into a curtsy.

“My, you look like your aunt reborn.” Lyanna stood up at the King’s words and bowed her head. “Little Lyanna.” 

“You are too kind, your grace.” Lyanna replied, briefly making eye contact with the King. She refrained from mentioning the slight misty look in his eyes. He took another step, looking over Sansa.

“My, you are a pretty one. Just like your mother.” Robert smiled over at Cat as Sansa swept into her own curtsy. He walked again and bent over to look at Arya. “Your name is?” Arya bobbed down into a sloppy curtsy and stood back up, eyeing the King out of the corner of her eye.

“Arya.” She said, still squinting up at him. He nodded and moved on to Bran.

“Oh… Show us your muscles.” He looked down at Bran, who grinned and lifted his arm out of his furs to flex. The King laughed and reached out a hand to pat Bran on the shoulder. “You’ll be a soldier.” Lyanna, mostly satisfied with her sisters’ responses, turned her attention back to the woman who stepped out of the carriage. She sauntered across the yard as the first Kingsguard removed his helmet.

“That’s Jaime Lannister!” Lyanna heard Arya whisper to Bran. “The Queen’s twin brother.” 

“Will you please shut up!” Sansa whispered back, almost causing Lyanna to glance over at them again. The woman from the carriage, who Lyanna assumed had to be the Queen, stopped in front of her father and half-heartedly held up her hand. Ned blinked once and then reached out to take it. He pressed a quick kiss to the back of her hand and stood upright again.

“My Queen.” He said. The Queen’s smile twitched. Her gaze shifted slightly to rest on Catelyn, who immediately swept into a low curtsy.

“My Queen.” Lyanna resisted the urge to twitch at her mother’s deference.

“Take me to your crypt.” The King’s voice boomed out and Lyanna looked over at him to find him looking between her and her father. “I want to pay my respects.”

“We’ve been riding for a month, my love.” The Queen spoke, and Lyanna felt shivers down her spine. “Surely the dead can wait.” Lyanna shifted her gaze to find the Queen staring daggers into her.

“Ned.” The King ignored his wife completely, and started walking towards the entrance to the crypts. Ned paused for a moment, and after giving the Queen another bow, followed after the King. The courtyard again stood frozen, until Arya broke the silence by leaning over to Lyanna again.

“Where’s the Imp?” She asked, causing the Queen to glare at the little girl. Lyanna tensed and knelt down in front of Arya as the Queen walked away.

“Arya.” Lyanna said, and her little sister frowned down at the dirt. 

“I just want to see him!” Arya whispered and Lyanna sighed.

“There is a time and a place for every question. We’ve talked about this.” Lyanna said, seeing her mother move out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m sorry.” Arya kicked the dirt and looked down. Lyanna sighed and stood up, pressing a kiss to Arya’s forehead.

“It’s alright.” 

Lyanna smiled as she took another bite of dinner. “That’s a load of rubbish, and you know it, Glover.” Ethan Glover laughed from across the table.

“Aye, it certainly is, Lady Stark.” He mockingly bowed at her and she refrained from throwing any of her dinner at him.

“You flirting with my sister, Glover?” Robb slung an arm over Lyanna’s shoulders and raised an eyebrow at Ethan. Ethan threw his hands in the air with a smile and a shake of his head.

“I wouldn’t dare.” He said and then smiled a bit wider. “At least, not right in front of you.” Robb scoffed and Lyanna shoved her twin brother away.

“Piss off! I could take Ethan Glover with one hand tied behind my back.” Lyanna said, causing Robb and Ethan to bust out into laughter.

“I think you have!” Robb said, and Lyanna fell into giggles with them as they recalled a feast a few years earlier for Robb and Lyanna’s name day. Lyanna watched out of the corner of her eye as one of the Queen’s maids whispered something in Sansa’s ear. Sansa blushed and beamed as she stood up and began to walk towards the head of the table. Lyanna reached out and grabbed her sister’s arm as she walked past.

“What?” Sansa said, pulling against Lyanna. Lyanna sighed and reached up towards her sister’s hair.

“You have a piece of your braid sticking out, come here.” Lyanna said, and Sansa quickly sat down. Lyanna pulled a hairpin from her own elaborate updo, and quickly fixed Sansa’s rogue curl. “There.” She smiled at her little sister and pushed her back to standing. “Now go!” She shooed her away and Sansa smiled as she continued walking towards the Queen.

“Doesn’t that worry you?” Lyanna turned back around to find Ethan Glover looking intently at her. Lyanna shrugged.

“I suppose. I know we’ve all heard that the Prince is a prick, but I have hope that he could grow out of it. He and Sansa are still so young. Hopefully, if they’re allowed to grow up together, they can form a bond that’s based more in friendship than anything else.” Ethan nodded and gave Lyanna a small smile. 

It was fairly well known that Lord Stark was planning to have a tourney for Lyanna’s hand in marriage, and it was equally well known that Lyanna had already given Ethan Glover her favor at multiple tournaments before. He was the only son of a Northern lord who treated her like a person, rather than a prize to be won. 

The first tourney that Ned had allowed Lyanna to fight in, she had beaten every other opponent except Robb— they both forfeited the match so they could win as twins. Ethan Glover had stayed at Winterfell for a few more days; his father had business to discuss with Ned, and he had joined them in weapons training. Unlike the rest of the Northern boys, he didn’t refuse to train with her, and even asked her for some pointers on some of the maneuvers she had used during the tourney.

They remained friends in the following years, exchanging letters and training together whenever they were in the same place. About a year ago, Lyanna had sat down with her father and informed him that she would prefer to marry Ethan over any of the other boys in the North. She laid out her reasons, and her father had agreed. He had told her that no betrothal announcement would be made, as the other Northern Lords still believed there to be a tourney, but that the tourney would just be for show.

Ethan and Lyanna had had many conversations since that day, and while neither of them would be professing their undying love for each other any time soon, they both agreed that they could see themselves being friends for many years. Lyanna was shaken out of her day dreaming when Robb elbowed her side. 

“Look! Uncle Benjen.” Robb began to stand up and turned back to his sister. Lyanna waved him away.

“Go say hello, I’ll be over in a few minutes.” She said, still waiting for Sansa to return to her seat. Sansa curtsied for the Queen and then came back to her seat. She smiled at Lyanna and hurried back to talk to her friend. Lyanna took another sip of her drink and looked back at Ethan, who had his eyebrow raised.

“You look like you’ve got a lot going on in that head.” He said, refilling her cup of wine with mostly water. “Care to share?” She smiled and took another drink.

“Not yet.” She said, swirling her cup. “Not until it’s a more formed thought.” Ethan simply nodded and continued to sit with her.  “You can go be with your friends, Ethan. You don’t have to stay here with me.” She said, nodding a quick thanks at the servant who had come to clear her plate.

“You are my friend, Lyanna.” He said, rolling his eyes. “Now, tell me more about your direwolf, Scarlet something?” He said and Lyanna rolled her own eyes.

“Scarlet Shadow.” She said, and pointed a finger at him. “And don’t you make fun of her name either! Robb went and named his wolf Grey Wind so I had to think of something equally pretentious. I’ll probably just call her Scarlet or Scar for short. She responds to both names already.” Ethan raised his eyebrows and began to speak, when he was interrupted by Sansa shrieking out Arya’s name. Lyanna glanced down the table to see her little sister preparing to launch another piece of gravy covered meat at her other sister and sighed. “Hold that thought.” She said to Ethan and got up from the table. She could already sense her mother glaring at her, so Lyanna scooped Arya up from the table and over her shoulder.

“Lyanna!” Arya shouted, but Lyanna continued to walk.

“Time for bed.” Lyanna said, and carried her sister out of the Great Hall. 

298 AC: After Ned Stark Becomes Hand of the King

“Is that a joke?” Lyanna was so taken aback that she couldn’t maintain her filter in front of her mother. At her words, her father sighed and rubbed his forehead from his chair. 

“Lyanna!” Her mother exclaimed, crossing her arms in front of her. “Do not question your father.” Lyanna took a deep measured breath.

“I’m not questioning Father, I’m questioning you.” Lyanna flexed her hands to try and stop them from forming into fists. “Father?” She leaned, trying to catch his gaze. “Is this your command or hers?”

“Speak kindly of your mother, Lyanna.” Ned said, the exasperation clear in his voice. 

“Father.” Lyanna sat down at the table across from him, and placed her hands on the table. “We have always discussed these matters openly together. I was under the impression that I was going to stay in the North.” Ned sighed again, still avoiding her eye contact.

“Oh don’t be naive, Lyanna.” Catelyn huffed and sat down in one of the comfier chairs in the space. “You are a lady of a noble house. It is your duty to forge alliances for your house through marriage. You cannot stay at home forever.” Lyanna took another deep breath to try and stave off her anger. 

“Father, look at me.” Lyanna said, and Ned finally met her gaze. “You have always discussed these choices with me. Why now, do I have no say?” Her gaze was pleading, her hands pressed to the table. 

“Cat, would you go fetch Robb for me?” Ned asked, and Catelyn huffed from her seat.

“Of course, dear.” Catelyn stood up and swept herself out of the room, without so much as a glance backwards. Ned looked away from Lyanna, staring up at the ceiling and rubbing his forehead again. They sat in silence for a few moments before Catelyn returned with Robb in tow.

“Have a seat, son.” Ned gestured to the chair next to Lyanna’s. Robb made eye contact with his twin, who was practically glaring up at him. Robb sat down as Cat returned to her comfortable chair. “I need to talk to both of you. Things have… evolved in recent days.” Robb clasped his hands on the table at Ned’s words.

“Father, is everything alright?” Robb asked.

“His Grace has asked me to be Hand of the King.” Ned stated, and Lyanna leaned back in her chair.

“I expected he would.” Lyanna replied as Robb nodded in agreement. 

“I am leaving for King’s Landing with His Grace in a week.” Ned said, and both twins sat up straighter at this news. “When I leave, Robb will become the acting Lord of Winterfell in my absence.” Ned looked Robb in the eyes and gave him a soft smile. “I have every confidence in you. You are ready.” Robb blinked a few times and leaned back in his chair. “I will be taking all three girls South with me.” Lyanna threw her hands in the air as Robb immediately sat back up.

“You’re taking Lyanna?” He asked. Catelyn sniffed in the corner.

“Why are you both so surprised by this?” Robb turned to his mother, a look of surprise on his face at her outburst.

“It was always my impression that Father was allowing Lyanna a relative amount of freedom regarding her marriage, and Lyanna has expressed to me repeatedly her desire to stay in the North.” Robb said, far more diplomatically than Lyanna would have been able to. 

“Unfortunately, that now must change.” Ned said, and Lyanna’s shoulders sank. Her eyes closed and she took another deep breath. “Sansa and Arya will be coming to King’s Landing with me. Sansa is to be betrothed to Joffrey, and I will find a suitable husband for Arya when she comes of age. Lyanna will be staying at Riverrun with your grandfather, and meeting the eligible sons from the Riverlands.” Ned turned to Lyanna, whose eyes were still closed. “You will be allowed to choose any of them that you wish. Lord Tully and your uncle Edmure will be there to guide you.” Lyanna opened her eyes, tears shining in them.

“I will be allowed.” She said quietly. “How kind of you, Father. Truly.” She stood up, the noise of the wooden chair legs against the stone floor echoing throughout the room. “I’ll leave you to discuss the rest of the plans regarding the rest of my life with your wife and son. Goodnight.” She started to walk towards the door.

“Lyanna!” Ned called out to her and she stopped in the door frame. She turned, the tears now openly falling down her cheeks.

“I know that I am a lady of a noble house. I know that this is my duty. I simply thought that I was more than that to you.” The hurt in her voice was unmistakable. Ned faltered, and said nothing. Catelyn looked furious. “This will break me. This will break me like it broke her.” Lyanna spun away and ran from the room.

298 AC: The Day Ned Stark Leaves Winterfell

Lyanna continued to pack her things and ready her horse, having already said goodbye to Bran. She hated that she was leaving without knowing whether or not he would be alright, but they had already delayed. She saw her father step out from the castle, and she turned her back towards him. Lyanna slung her saddle over her horse, refusing to look at her father. Ned began to walk towards her and then walked away. 

“My lady.” Lyanna spun around to see Ethan Glover, leading his own horse. 

“Ethan.” She shot him a glare for using the honorific as she handed the reins of her horse off to one of the soldiers nearby. 

“Your father took it upon himself to personally tell me about his reasons for you to leave.” Ethan was looking at the ground. Lyanna let out a bitter laugh.

“It seems you got more courtesy than I did in that regard.” Her tone was cold, but she did her best to impress upon Ethan that she was not angry with him. Ethan looked around and took a step closer to Lyanna.

“I mean it when I say this.” Ethan reached out and took Lyanna’s hands. “We are friends, Lyanna. And if you say the word, I will ride to Riverrun and break you out myself.” Lyanna gripped Ethan’s hands.

“Ethan…” She faltered.

“I would expect nothing of you.” He was practically whispering. Lyanna squeezed his hands. “I say this because we are friends.”

“You have always been my friend, Ethan.” Lyanna whispered. “But before you stage a jailbreak, you might want to tell Robb your plan.” Ethan laughed under his breath. “I will miss you.” Lyanna smiled up at him. Ethan squeezed her hands again.

“I’ll miss you too.” He said, and began to step back. Lyanna dropped his hands and resisted the urge to pull him into a hug. He bowed and she swept into a curtsy. She turned back to her horse, unable to watch him ride away. She turned towards the footsteps heading towards her, and saw Robb and Jon both walking her way. Jon had a saddle slung over his shoulder.

“You’ve said goodbye to Bran?” She heard Robb ask Jon. “He’s not going to die. I know it.” They came to a stop in front of her as Jon threw his saddle over his own horse.

“You Starks are hard to kill.” Jon said, turning back to face the two of them. Robb frowned and Lyanna shoved Jon’s shoulder.

“Us Starks are hard to kill.” Lyanna corrected him, looking a few feet away where their direwolves were nipping and playing with each other. 

“Our mother?” Robb asked, turning back to Jon. Jon looked down at his feet and then back up at Robb.

“She was very kind.” He said and Lyanna rolled her eyes.

“Did you know that you always look down at your feet before you lie?” Lyanna asked, causing Robb to straighten up and Jon to glare at her. “Maybe something to work on up there on the Wall.”

“Next time I see you, you’ll be all in black.” Robb said, turning back to Jon. Jon shrugged and smiled.

“It was always my color.” He said. Lyanna rolled her eyes and pulled him into a hug.

“Oh! I’m going to miss you.” She pulled away, smiling at him. “You better respond to my letters, or I’ll ride up there and shove you off the Wall myself.” Jon smiled back and rolled his eyes at her.

“I’m going to miss you too, Ly. Who am I supposed to spar with now?” She smiled at Jon’s words. He turned to Robb and let out a deep breath. “Farewell, Stark.” He said, nodding. 

“And you, Stark.” Robb replied. They stared at each other for a moment and then hugged. Lyanna smiled and hugged the both of them. They all let go, and Jon turned away slightly to give the twins some privacy. Lyanna let out a deep breath.

“I really didn’t think I was going to cry.” She said, her eyes beginning to well up. She heard Robb sniff and pull her into a hug.

“If we both pretend it’s not happening, do you think you can just stay?” He asked and she laughed into his leathers. 

“I think we might be past that.” She said, and they both stepped back from the hug.

“How am I supposed to do this without you?” Robb asked, his hands resting on her shoulders. She shrugged.

“I have no idea.” She said, tugging Robb back into a hug.

“All you have to do is scare off all those uppity Southern boys and then you can come right back.” Robb said, kissing the top of Lyanna’s head.

“I hope it’s that easy.” She responded, squeezing him tighter around the middle. They both pulled away from the hug a few moments later as the riders around them began to mount up.

“I love you, Lyanna.” Robb said, pressing another kiss to the top of her head.

“I love you too, Robb.” She gave him another hug and then finally pulled away to mount up on her horse. She refused to look back, riding out of the Winterfell courtyard with her head held high.

banner by @samspenandsword

thank you for reading!!

dot dividers by @djarrex and leafy dividers by @saradika-graphics

follow the OC blog! @princess-lyanna-stark

join the SFAC taglist!!

[thequeendomhq]

NAME. “Theon Epialos" (Alcides de Contreras) AGE & BIRTH DATE. 31 & June 21st, 2992 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Cismale & He/Him NATIONALITY. Astorian SPECIES. Cubi FACTION. N/A OCCUPATION. Stonemason (Quarryman) FACE CLAIM. Michael Trevino

biography

( tw: mutiny, death, violence, gore )

The only Astorian heir is brought forth on the precipice of a truce, Iskaldrik and Astoria had long clashed upon the soil of Astorian land; they’re known for their control over much of the world’s grain, but equally known for their poverty. Alcides, the King’s only son to survive the strain of adolescence, was a mark of a prosperous ideal; where once they were at the helm of successfully navigating the political ties of this world they’ve fallen short, infamous only for their golden fields and not the current legacy of the King’s notable foibles. Alcides understood swiftly that his father’s fatal flaw was likely his aloof benevolence; instead of leading with a heavy hand, squashing the wandering beliefs of others, King de Contreras was more enraptured with the spoils of leadership; gladiator competitions, the ruse of public executions, fanatical games that kept the Astorian people mindlessly contented with his lawless leadership, though not necessarily inspired. 

Alcides was free spirited, perhaps as naive as his father was, but the Astorian heir was at least privy to the excuse of his adolescence in comparison to a King and father who stumbled within the gift of his leadership. Many mistakes littered the King's reign, but the most consequential would lead to his inherent demise; his failure to dismiss the worship of any but the One; false gods cropped up from time to time but the devout polluted the streets, they always crooned their ears to listen to those who betrayed the One; a dangerous realm where the de Contreras legacy was concerned. Tensions arose quickly, a childhood spattered with the lounging ability to roam the Astorian streets soon grew more isolated, stationed safely within the castle as opposition of his father’s leadership grew. Advisors were the only reassurance granted through these tense times, false beliefs that this was merely another phase that Astoria had to be appropriately ushered through despite the Vanguard that loomed. To the King that merely translated as more fervent distractions; uproarious matches, frequent gladiatorial schemes performed in the ring; if people were gleefully blindsighted by the manufactured violence they’d leave the monarchs be, right? 

Alcides didn’t quite have a voice in opposition of his father, mindless benevolence was the King’s glorified personality trait and it was also his wretched demise. Alcides was awoken to the screams of his mother, the horrified ushering from the Advisors as a mutiny finally came to the head of a listless leadership. If the Astorian regime had fallen from the glory of their former political ties, the current King’s reign merely solidified such plummet. Divine Cassiopeia, ordered their devout Vanguard to march, the militant branch of the Light, those devoted to the One God; it was under their viewpoint that order needed to be restored and so they waltzed forth to dispatch those who stood in opposition. The reign of Alcides’ family fell in unison with each dagger that plummeted into the King of Astoria; a motley of the devout, blind under their impassioned oath for their One. Silence and indifference meant being complicit to the denial of the One God’s influence and it was there where the King fell mercy to the Vanguard’s piety. Alcides survived, ushered away by those who remained loyal to a bitter end, off unto lands uncharted, far away from the city of Everlight that had resounded as the genesis of his budding life. Reverent gods were often mistakenly disregarded under the One, but Alcides, in his tormented grief, prayed to any who dared listen, no matter their influence within the coil of this earth. A governess of death heeded his call, an Old God who once heralded upon the crossroads of life. Ereshkigal, she who had been rumored to once reside over the dominion of the Great Below. She who was believed to raise prominence over the damning cycle of life and death, enforcer of the laws which retained them to the sullen domain which trapped their souls. A prayer answered under the naivety of a young man who had never been the wiser to the Gods and their promises, to the hefty dissolution that comes when bargaining with Gods. 

Alcides asked of the unthinkable; to bring back one who had met the very fate of death, his father, the fallen King of Astoria. Words were powerful, prayers and offerings more so; he’d wanted his father back, to see him walk again; the heir of Astoria never stated that he wanted his father ‘alive’ and void of pallor. Sheltered in the Astorian plains, he’d prayed and beckoned heedlessly and it was Ereshkigal who’d come to answer him. Immense power lay in her trickery, one who never let the dead slip so carelessly from her reach, when Alcides prayed for his father’s return, it came with foilable circumstances. A promise of his return was made and Alcides would answer whatever was to be asked of him when Ereshkigal willed it so. The following evening, sheltered by the shadow of the moon, silence clouded the Astorian plains where the fallen heir had sought refuge since the coup. A scratching rose in an agonizing crescendo and though everything within Alcides screamed to let it pass, there was something hauntingly familiar about the presence which loomed. Tendrils of loose skin, a gaunt complexion, but a harrowing reminiscence to his father, replaced with a mindless beast who groaned in hunger. A stifled scream, something of shock was the only perceptive response to leave Alcides, stumbling back from the very plea he willed to reality; his father could walk, he’d been brought back, but the pieces fit incorrectly, an indelible shift to what the heir had always known. 

A cruel fate, a prayer that folded in on itself as Alcides’ task came to light; to kill the monstrosity that had morphed from his plea. Devotion was just as hefty an ingredient as the souls Ereshkigal and many other Gods collected. Alcides could not commit to such a horrific act, though a husk of the former glory his father had been, this creature still bore the vivid resemblance to everything Alcides remembered. Putting the creature out of its misery would be an act of kindness, but the fallen heir was stuck in his immovable shock. A dagger in hand, but one that would not come to strike the bloated and lethargic beast; throughout everything, Alcides would stay loyal to whatever apparition his father had become, even if whatever blankly stared back at him could do no more than amble about with infrequent, famished, groans. Gods were cruel, their answerings crueler, and when Alcides failed within his act of piety the fallen heir’s identity was pruned further. 

Forever marked and corrupted by his failure, Alcides understood that no patron could salvage what he sought, and though he was marked for damnation and tethered to the Blight, he’d have to save whatever else he could of himself. Sheltered in life and completely vulnerable within his newly established threshold in the ‘undead’, the fallen heir learned quickly that rebuilding was not quite as simple; strength and merit would not be enough to stave off inevitable corruption. Throughout the bountiful plains of Astoria, his presence of Blighted damnation grew; crops withered wherever he lingered, water became easily polluted. The natural aversion to this would be to hide away, but his marred soul vied to overturn these attunements bestowed upon him and twist them to his favor. Fortune favors the brave, but perhaps it favored the cunning; if the devoted Vanguard had established themselves at the helm of Astoria then the fallen heir turned incubus would slip through the land and tear it apart at the seams. He’d be the humble man seeking shelter, he’d be the merry wanderer of the night; if the Vanguard and their clergy sought to dissolve those who believed in any but the One, he’d inspire others to deflect or wither beneath it. 

Theon Epialos; an omen and a curse, he’d never be as powerful an emissary as the God who’d cursed him to such fate, but the incubus could pretend and relent, shape the circumstances to his blighted favor. For a while, Theon slipped through the arid plains of Astoria, but Lysara and the varied culture barely contained within it called to the incubus whose life was now spurred by the mere desire of chaos and mischief. If a demon's tether to the Abyss was this perceptive stain upon their soul, a persistent calling card that bode their inevitable rot to the land, then Theon would do his best to weave around the fated decay that composed his very essence. Life was this splintered precipice on which his life now dangled, promised to the Abyss inevitably but forced to live and grovel through a yearly promise to remain earthside. Where once he could not fulfill what was asked of him, Theon now accepted with greed, an avarice to remain from the condemnation of the Abyss, to steer far from whatever monstrosities lay within the fissures and shadows uncharted. 

Theon manufactured happiness and contentment, if it was to be a life cursed then he would bask in what was granted to him; the ability to shapeshift a carapace of disguise, the charisma and resilience that now aided his hunt for souls. Astoria was impossible for him to stay within forever, the One’s influence bleeding upon every crevice of land, whether in the bustling city of Everlight, or the humble lands which surrounded it. Traveling to the Queendom, Theon has stationed himself within Eterna ever since; the frenetic thrum of the city having called to him, the incubus a budding opportunist ever since the tarnishing of his soul. 

personality

+ adaptable, extroverted, driven – manipulative, inconsiderate, deceitful

played by spirit. est. she/her.

[axelsagewrites]

it'd be cool to see some theon fluff :) maybe from the era after he escapes from ramsey bc that boy deserves some comfort omg (also if you could use he/him pronouns that would be cool too!)

Theon*Dream of Sweet Memories

Pairing: Theon x m!reader

Platonic: Jon, Robb, Sansa, x reader

Summary: Reader helps Theon recover from a nightmare and reflects on their past

Tw: Theon having ptsd

Word count: 1474

Masterlist Here

Winterfell felt colder than before. The hollow halls of your childhood had been through so much the past few years. Now you were back, the war was over, Sansa was queen in the North, Bran in the south. Robb was dead, Jon was gone, Arya too. Sansa was kind but you had never been close. Your family was all but gone as well. There was one thing left though one thing that made all the pain, all the suffering, the war worth it.

Theon lay asleep on your bed, his face relaxed as he slumbered. The last candle that was burner illuminated a small portion of the room but enough for you to admire his features in the candlelight. His hair was soft under your touch as you stroked it gently.

Moments like this were rare. Theon was skittish, paranoid, quiet. He’d never been this quiet before. Robb was the loud one who knocked into everything and everyone, who’s barking laugh rang across the hall. Theon was the funny one, always a joke up his sleeve that he would loudly proclaim to anyone who would hear. Jon was quiet in public but when the four of you would hang out in the stables he was just as loud as Theon, and they would banter long into the night.

Theon had always joked you were practically a mute. You liked to listen and laugh along, adding in your own comments occasionally. Theon tried to drag the conversation out of you. He’d ask a million questions just to get you to speak. Tell jokes just to make you laugh. It was usual for you to be left out of discussions, but Theon had always made sure to drag you into them even when you didn’t want him too.

You opened up more in your chambers, laughing and cheering with him especially after a drink. You’d both gossip like it was nobodies’ business. Theon was shocked when he found out you were actually funny. He spent months, years, growing your confidence but even still you were always the quiet one.

Till now at least. Theon could barely look you in the eyes when you were reunited. He was ashamed. Ashamed of everything he had done, everything he had caused. Jon wanted to hate him, wanted you to hate him, but he couldn’t after he saved Sansa.  You wanted to hate him too, but you couldn’t. you had thought for months if you ever saw him again the first thing you would do was punch him. Then he walked through those gates.

He was meek, quiet, skittish. He looked like even walking was a battle for him. And gods were he skinny now. When he walked through the gates you weren’t angry. A warmth poured through your heart. Theon looked up and instantly away again when he saw you. he couldn’t face you.

You didn’t even realise you were walking, running even, till you had pulled him into your arms. Theon froze at first, stiff as ice but it soon melted. His head fell into your shoulder, his arms wrapping weakly around your waist. Your hand clamped against his head, holding it tight against you, “If you ever leave me again, I’ll fucking kill you Greyjoy, understand?”

He hadn’t left your side since. You had been so distracted by your thoughts you hadn’t noticed him stirring. You looked down at his face which was contorted with worry, his lips mouthing something you couldn’t fully hear. Leaning down, you tried to listen, “Please,” you managed to make out, “not please,” he mumbled, “no, no, no,” he began to rush out, you sat up about to shake him awake when a shrill shriek rang across the room.

Theon’s cried echoed around the cold chamber, his body stiff as a bored as his body flung himself up, backing away up the bed. “Theon!” you yelled, trying to grab his flailing arms, “It’s me! Its (Y/N)! You’re safe,” you said as you grabbed his shoulders.

Theon’s eyes danced crazily across the room till they settled on you, his hands grasping onto your shoulders, “(Y/N)?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s me my love,” you said as you held his face softly in your hands, “It’s just us you’re safe Theon,”

“No, Im not Theon im- “

“Reeks dead Theon,” you said, moving to kneel on either sides of his legs so you could face him straight on, “Ramsay’s dead Theon. Its okay. you’re safe I promise,”

Theon stopped for a moment, his eyes dazed as he stared into space before finally turning back to you, “I was so scared,” he whimpered, “it was like he was back,”

“He’s not coming back Theon,” you said, stroking his cheek, “I’m here sweetheart. I’ve got you,”

“You’ve got me,” he whispered, and you just nodded, smiling lightly at the terrified boy.

You moved to be laying on the bed again, bringing Theon into your arms as you cradled his shaking body, “Nothings gonna happen to you. I promise,” you said, kissing the back of his head.

Heavy sobs fell from his lips, shaking his body. The feeling brought tears to your own eyes but all you could do was hold him. “I wish I could be normal again,” Theon whispered.

“You will be,” you said as you began to stroke his hair, “but it’ll take time,”

Silence fell over the room for a moment, “Sometimes,” Theon began to croak out, “I wonder if I deserved it all, for what I did to Robb, to you,”

A heavy sigh fell from your lips, “No one deserves what Ramsay did to you. no one. It’s a fate worse than death but you survived it because you’re strong, because it’s your fate to go on. If things had went differently Robb would’ve forgiven, you. you know that”

“That just makes it worse,” he whispered, his voice horse from his whimpering, “I wish I had stayed with him. At least he treated me like family, he was my family,”

“We cannot change the past,” you said as you moved Theon to face you, stroking his cheek lightly, “But we can live for the future. You saved Sansa, you helped save Bran. Robb would be grateful for that. Now you must live for him, protect Winterfell for him,” you said, and Theon just nodded.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead and fell into a comfortable silence. Before the war Theon had just been a friend to you though you couldn’t help your stares after him. The way his laugh light up a room, his jokes never failing to cheer you up, how his smile curved. He fascinated you. he didn’t admit it, but he had always felt the same.

You grew even closer when you both rode off with Robb, sharing a tent to save on supplies. There had been a moment, one night after a particularly hard battle. The cold was settling in, and it was bitter.

******

“Your chattering so loud Tywin can hear,” Theon whispered from across the tent as he sat up beneath his thin furs. “Get over here,”

“I um but what if someone- “

“Get under these furs before we freeze to death,” he said rolling his eyes. You did as you had been told as slipped under the furs beside the boy. “See already better,” he whispered.

You rolled over to face the other side of the tent to try concealing the blush coating your cheeks. However, you were confused when you heard Theon shuffling then blushed even harder when you felt his arms reach around your body, “What are you doing?” you whispered back.

“I can’t have my best friend freezing to death,” he replied. At one point that night Theon had obviously figured you had fallen asleep, but you were still awake enough to feel the kiss he placed to your cheek, laying still as he settled back down until his soft snores filled the tent.

******

“We should visit the crypt tomorrow,” Theon said breaking the silence, “I want to see him again,”

“Okay,” you said, kissing his lips gently. He had visited Robbs statue many times since it had been placed in the crypts. Neither Robb nor Neds’ bodies had made it to the crypt, but Sansa had still ordered for their statues to be placed there. The last lord of Winterfell and its first king in this new dynasty. A statue of Catelyn and Rickon at either side. “We’ll go at first light but for now we must rest,”

“Okay,” Theon whispered as he placed his head on your chest. You had almost dozed off when he spoke again, “(Y/N)?” he asked, and you yawned a what. “I love you,”

“I love you too,” you murmured back as your eyelids grew heavy, “Sleep my love. Dream of sweet memories,”

General Taglist: @clairacassidy @nyotamalfoy @fan-goddess @valeskafics

[koipepo]

junkie theon, junkie theon, for your dearest totel! 🥺💙💙💙

junkie theon with his irresponsible drug dealer coming right up!